PARADISE    BEND 


OTHER  NOVELS  BY 
WILLIAM  PATTERSON  WHITE 


THE  OWNER  OF  THE  LAZY  D 

(Little,  Brown  &  Co.) 

LYNCH  LAWYERS 

(Little,  Brown  &  Co.) 


"  Tom/ '  she  breathed.     'Tom!  you  do  think  I 
betrayed  you  after  aU     .     .     .     ' " 


PARADISE   BEND 

BY 
WILLIAM    PATTERSON    WHITE 


FRONTISPIECE 

BY 
RALPH   FALLEN   COLEMAN 


GARDEN   CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,   PAGE    &    COMPANY 
1920 


COPYRIGHT,  1920,  BY 

DOUBLE  DAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OP 

TRANSLATION  INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES, 

INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 


COPYRIGHT,  1916,  BY  THE  RIDGWAY  COMPANY 


TO  MY  CAPE  MAY  COUSINS 
DOROTHY,  BESS,  AND  MARION 


M559S32 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I .  TOM  LOUDON 3 

II.  AT  THE  BARS 15 

III .  SHOTS  ON  PACK-SADDLE 24 

IV.  THE  SKINNED  CATTLE 37 

V .  THEIR  OWN  DECEIVINGS 44 

VI .  PESTILENT  FELLOWS 56 

VII.  PARADISE  BEND 64 

VIII .  THE  AMAZING  MACKENZIE 75 

IX .  AUTHORS  OF  CONFUSION 82 

X.  THE  HORSE  THIEF 96 

XI.  ROCKET 108 

XII.  SCOTTY  ADVISES 121 

XIII.  THE  DANCE 134 

XIV .  A  DETERMINED  WOMAN 147 

XV.  A  HIDDEN  TRAIL 156 

XVI.  KATE  Is  HELPFUL 164 

XVII .  MRS.  BURR  RELIEVES  HER  MIND     .      .      .  174 

XVIII .  A  MURDER  AND  A  KILLING 184 


CHAPTER 

XIX 


PAGB 


CONTENTS 

.  MARYSVILLE 201 

XX.  THE  RAILROAD  CORRAL 218 

XXI .  THE  JUDGE'S  OFFICE 230 

XXII .  UNDER  THE  RIDGE       .     „ 237 

XXIII .  THE  SMOKE  OF  CONFLICT 253 

XXIV.  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 266 

XXV.  TRAIL'S  END  274 


PARADISE    BEND 


PARADISE  BEND 


CHAPTER   I 

TOM       LOUDON 

AND  don't  forget  that  ribbon!"  called   Kate   Saltoun 

J-\     from  the  ranch-house  door.     "And  don't  lose  the 
-£  JL  sample!" 

"I  won't!"  shouted  Tom  Loudon,  turning  in  his  saddle. 
"I'll  get  her  just  like  you  said !  Don't  you  worry  any ! " 

He  waved  his  hat  to  Kate,  faced  about,  and  put  his  horse 
to  a  lope. 

"Is  it  likely  now  I'd  forget?"  he  muttered.  "We'd  do 
more'n  that  for  her,  wouldn't  we,  fellah?" 

The  horse,  a  long-legged  chestnut  named  Ranger,  turned 
back  one  ear.  He  was  accustomed  to  being  questioned,  was 
Ranger.  Tom  Loudon  loved  him.  He  had  bought  him  a  five- 
year-old  from  the  88  ranch  the  year  before,  and  he  would  allow 
no  one  save  Kate  Saltoun  to  ride  him.  For  the  sun  and  the 
moon,  in  the  estimation  of  Tom  Loudon,  rose  and  set  in  the 
black  eyes  of  Kate  Saltoun,  the  exceedingly  handsome  daugh 
ter  of  John  T.  Saltoun,  the  owner  of  the  great  Bar  S  ranch. 

This  day  Loudon  was  riding  into  Farewell  for  the  ranch 
mail,  and  Kate  had  commissioned  him  to  do  an  errand  for  her. 
To  serve  his  lady  was  joy  to  Loudon.  He  did  not  believe 
that  she  was  aware  of  his  state  of  mind.  A  flirt  was  Kate,  and 
a  charming  one.  She  played  with  a  man  as  a  cat  plays  with 
a  mouse.  At  which  pleasant  sport  Kate  was  an  adept. 
But  Loudon  realized  nothing  of  all  this.  Shrewd  and  pene 
trative  in  his  business,  where  Kate  was  concerned  he  saw 
nothing  but  the  obvious. 

3 


4  PARADISE  BEND 

Where  the  trail  snaked  over  Indian  Ridge,  ten  miles  from 
the  ranch  house,  Loudon  pulled  up  in  front  of  a  lone  pine 
tree.  On  the  trunk  of  the  pine  a  notice  was  tacked.  Which 
notice  set  forth  briefly  that  two  hundred  dollars*  reward  was 
offered  for  the  person  or  persons  of  the  unknown  miscreant 
or  miscreants  who  were  depleting  the  herds  of  the  Bar  S  and 
the  Cross-in-a-box  outfits.  It  was  signed  by  Sheriff  Block. 

Who  the  miscreants  were  no  one  knew  with  certainty. 
But  strange  tales  were  told  of  the  88  punchers.  It  was  whis 
pered  that  they  carried  running-irons  on  their  saddles.  Cer 
tainly  they  displayed,  when  riding  the  range,  a  marked  aver 
sion  to  the  company  of  men  from  the  other  ranches. 

The  remains  of  small  fires  had  been  found  time  and  again 
in  draws  bordering  the  88  range,  and  once  a  fire-marked  cinch- 
ring  had  been  picked  up.  As  the  jimmy  and  bunch  of  skele 
ton  keys  in  a  man's  pocket  so  are  the  running-iron  and  the 
extra  cinch-ring  under  a  puncher's  saddle-skirts.  They  in 
dicate  a  criminal  tendency;  specifically,  in  the  latter  case,  a 
whole-hearted  willingness  to  brand  the  cattle  of  one's  neigh 
bour. 

Loudon  read  the  notice  of  reward,  slow  contempt  curling 
his  lips. 

"Signs,"  he  said,  gently.  "Signs !  What  we  need  is 

Vigilantes — Vigilantes  an'  a  bale  o'  rope!" 

He  turned  in  his  saddle  and  looked  back  over  the  way  he 
had  come.  Fifty  miles  to  the  south  the  Frying  Pan  Moun 
tains  lay  in  a  cool,  blue,  tumbling  line. 

From  where  Loudon  sat  on  his  horse  to  the  Frying  Pans 
stretched  the  rolling  range,  cut  by  a  thin,  kinked  strip  of 
cottonwoods  marking  the  course  of  a  wandering  river,  pock 
marked  with  draws  and  shallow  basins,  blotched  with  clumps 
of  pine  and  tamarack,  and  humped  with  knolls  and  sprawling 
hills.  The  meandering  stream  was  the  Lazy,  and  all  the 
land  in  sight,  and  beyond  for  that  matter,  was  the  famous 
Lazy  River  country  held  by  three  great  ranches,  the  Cross- 
in-a-box,  the  Bar  S,  and  the  88. 

Of  these  the  88  was  the  largest  and  the  farthest  west  of  the 
three,  its  eastern  line  running  along  the  high-bluffed  banks  of 


TOM  LOUDON  5 

the  Falling  Horse,  which  emptied  into  the  Lazy  some  ten 
miles  from  the  88  ranch  house.  East  of  the  88  lay  the  Bar  S, 
and  east  of  the  Bar  S  was  the  Cross-in-a-box.  The  two  latter 
ranches  owned  the  better  grazing,  the  more  broken  country 
lying  within  the  borders  of  the  88  ranch. 

Beyond  the  88  range,  across  the  Falling  Horse,  were  the 
Three  Sisters  Mountains,  a  wild  and  jumbled  tangle  of  peaks 
and  narrow  valleys  where  the  hunter  and  the  bear  and  the 
mountain  lion  lived  and  had  their  beings.  East  of  the  Lazy 
River  country  lay  the  Double  Diamond  A  and  the  Hog-pen 
outfits;  north  and  south  stretched  other  ranches,  but  all  the 
ranges  ended  where  the  Three  Sisters  began. 

Loudon  swung  his  gaze  westward,  then  slowly  his  eyes  slid 
around  and  fastened  on  the  little  brown  dots  that  were  the 
ranch  buildings  of  the  Bar  S.  He  shook  his  head  gently  and 
sighed  helplessly. 

«  He  was  thinking  partly  of  Kate  and  partly  of  her  father, 
the  gray  old  man  who  owned  the  Bar  S  and  would  believe 
nothing  evil  of  his  neighbours,  the  hard-riding  88  boys. 
Loudon  was  morally  certain  that  forty  cows  within  the  last 
three  months  had  transferred  their  allegiance  from  Bar  S 
to  88,  and  he  had  hinted  as  much  to  Mr.  Saltoun.  But  the 
latter  had  laughed  him  to  scorn  and  insisted  that  only  a  few 
cows  had  been  taken  and  that  the  lifting  was  the  work  of 
independent  rustlers,  or  perhaps  of  one  of  the  other  ranches. 
Nevertheless,  in  response  to  the  repeated  urging  of  his  fore 
man,  Bill  Rainey,  Mr.  Saltoun  had  joined  with  the  Cross-in- 
a-box  in  offering  a  reward  for  the  rustlers. 

Loudon  was  well  aware  of  the  reason  for  Mr.  Saltoun's 
fatuous  blindness.  That  reason  was  Sam  Blakely,  the  88 
manager,  who  came  often  to  the  Bar  S  ranch  and  spent  many 
hours  in  the  company  of  Kate.  Mr.  Saltoun  did  not  believe 
that  a  dog  would  bite  the  hand  that  fed  him.  But  it  all 
depends  on  the  breed  of  dog.  And  Blakely  was  the  wrong 
breed. 

"He  shore  is  a  pup,"  Loudon  said,  softly,  "an*  yellow  at 
that.  He'd  steal  the  moccasins  off  a  dead  Injun.  An'  Block 
would  help  him,  the  cow-thief." 


6  PARADISE  BEND 

Then,  being  young,  Loudon  practised  the  road-agent's  spin 
on  the  notice  of  reward  tacked  on  the  pine  tree,  and  planted 
three  accurate  bullets  in  the  same  spot. 

"Here,  you!  What  yuh  doin'?"  rasped  a  grating  voice  in 
London's  immediate  rear. 

Loudon  turned  an  unhurried  head.  Ten  yards  distant  a 
tall  man,  black-bearded,  of  a  disagreeable  cast  of  countenance, 
was  leaning  forward  across  an  outcrop. 

"I  asked  yuh  what  yuh  was  doin'?"  repeated  the  peevish 
individual,  glaring  at  Loudon. 

"I  heard  yuh  the  first  time,  Sheriff,"  replied  Loudon,  pla 
cidly.  "I  was  just  figurin'  whether  to  tell  yuh  I  was  shoein' 
a  horse  or  catchin'  butterflies.  Which  answer  would  yuh 
like  best?" 

"Yuh  think  yo're  mighty  funny,  Tom  Loudon,  but  I  tell 
yuh  flat  if  yuh  don't  go  slow  'round  here  I'll  find  a  quick  way 
o'  knockin'  yore  horns  off." 

"Yuh  don't  say.     When  yuh  goin'  to  begin?" 

Loudon  beamed  upon  the  sheriff,  his  gun  held  with  studied 
carelessness.  Sheriff  Block  walked  from  behind  his  breast 
work,  his  eyes  watchful,  his  thumbs  carefully  hooked  in  the 
armholes  of  his  vest. 

"That  notice  ain't  no  target,"  he  grunted,  halting  beside 
the  pine  tree. 

"It  is  now,"  remarked  Loudon,  genially. 

"It  won't  be  no  more." 

"O'  course  not,  Sheriff.  I  wouldn't  think  o'  shootin'  at 
it  if  you  say  no.  It's  a  right  pretty  piece  o'  readin'.  Did 
yuh  write  it  all  yoreself?" 

The  sheriff's  eyes  became  suddenly  blank  and  fixed.  His 
right  thumb  slowly  unhooked. 

"I  only  fired  three  shots,"  observed  Loudon,  the  muzzle 
of  his  six-shooter  bearing  on  the  pit  of  the  sheriff's 
stomach. 

The  sheriff's  right  thumb  rehooked  itself  hurriedly.  His 
frame  relaxed. 

"Yuh  shouldn't  get  mad  over  a  joke,"  continued  Loudon. 
"It's  plumb  foolish.  Been  hidin'  behind  that  rock  long?" 


TOM  LOTJDON  7 

"I  wasn't  hidin'  behind  it.  I  was  down  in  the  draw,  an' 
I  seen  you  a-readin'  the  notice,  an'  I  come  up." 

London's  gray  eyes  twinkled.  He  knew  that  the  sheriff 
lied.  He  knew  that  Block  had  heard  his  comments  on 
Blakely  and  his  own  worshipful  person,  but  evidently  the 
sheriff  did  not  consider  this  an  opportune  time  for  taking 
umbrage. 

"So  yuh  come  up,  did  yuh?  Guess  yuh  thought  it  was 
one  o'  the  rustlers  driftin'  in  to  see  what  reward  was  out  for 
him,  didn't  yuh  ?  But  don't  get  downhearted.  Maybe  one'll 
come  siftin'  along  yet.  Why  don't  yuh  camp  here,  Sheriff? 
It'll  be  easier  than  ridin'  the  range  for  'em,  an'  a  heap  health 
ier.  Now,  Sheriff,  remember  what  I  said  about  gettin'  red 
headed.  Say,  between  friends,  an'  I  won't  tell  even  the  little 
hoss,  who  do  you  guess  is  doin*  the  rustlin'?" 

"If  I  knowed,"  growled  the  sheriff,  "his  name'd  be  wrote 
on  the  notice." 

"Would  it?    I  was  just  wonderin'.     Habit  I  got." 

"Don't  you  fret  none  about  them  rustlers.  I'll  get  'em 
if  it  takes  ten  years." 

"Make  it  twenty,  Sheriff.  They'll  keep  right  on  electin' 
yuh." 

"Do  yuh  mean  to  say  the  rustlers  elected  me?"  exploded 
the  sheriff. 

"O'  course  not,"  chided  Loudon,  gently.  "Now  what 
made  yuh  think  I  meant  that?" 

"Well/yuh  said — — "  began,  the  sheriff. 

"  I  said  *  they,' "  interrupted  Loudon.  "You  said '  rustlers'. 
Stay  in  the  saddle,  Sheriff.  You'll  stub  your  toe  sometime 
if  yuh  keep  on  a-travellin'  one  jump  ahead  o'  the  hoss." 

"Yo're smart  for  a  cow-punch." 

"  It  is  a  cinch  to  fool  most  of  'em,  ain't  it — especially  when 
yo're  a  sheriff?" 

London's  eyes  were  wide  open  and  child-like  in  their  gray 
blandness.  But  the  sheriff  did  not  mistake  his  man.  Block 
knew  that  if  his  hand  dropped,  a  bullet  would  neatly  perfor 
ate  his  abdomen..  The  sheriff  was  not  a  coward,  but  he  had 
sense  enough  not  to  force  an  issue.  He  could  afford  to  wait. 


8  PARADISE  BEND 

"I'll  see  yuh  again,"  said  the  sheriff,  harshly,  and  strode 
diagonally  down  the  slope. 

Loudon  watched  him  until  he  vanished  among  the  pines  a 
hundred  yards  below.  Then  Loudon  touched  his  horse  with 
the  spur  and  rode  on,  chin  on  shoulder,  hands  busy  reloading 
his  six-shooter.  Three  minutes  later  Loudon  saw  the  sheriff, 
mounted  on  his  big  black  stallion,  issue  from  the  wood.  The 
great  horse  scrambled  up  the  hillside,  gained  the  trail,  and 
headed  south. 

"Bet  he's  goin'  to  the  88,"  said  Loudon.  "I'd  give  ten 
dollars  to  know  what  Block  was  roostin'  behind  that  rock  for. 
Gawd!  I  shore  would  admire  to  be  Sheriff  o'  Fort  Creek 
County  for  thirty  days!" 

Eleven  miles  from  Indian  Ridge  he  topped  a  rise  and  saw 
below  him  Farewell's  straggly  street,  flanked  by  several  false- 
fronted  saloons,  two  stores,  one  hotel  leaning  slightly  askew, 
and  a  few  unkempt  houses,  the  whole  encircled  by  the  twink 
ling  pickets  of  innumerable  bottles  and  tin  cans. 

He  rode  along  the  street,  fetlock-deep  in  dust,  and  stopped 
at  the  hotel  corral.  Freeing  Ranger  of  the  saddle  and 
bridle,  he  opened  the  gate  and  slapped  the  chestnut  on  the 
hip. 

"Go  on  in,  fellah,"  said  Loudon.  "Yore  dinner's 
a-comin'." 

He  walked  around  to  the  front  of  the  hotel.  Under  the 
wooden  awning  a  beefy,  red-faced  citizen  was  dozing  in  a 
chair  tilted  back  against  the  wall.  Loudon  tapped  the  snor 
ing  individual  on  the  shoulder.  The  sleeper  awoke  gaspingly, 
his  eyes  winking.  The  chair  settled  on  four  legs  with  a  crash. 

"Howdy,  Bill,"  said  Loudon,  gravely. 

"Howdy,  Tom,"  gurgled  the  other. 

"Hoss  in  the  corral  an'  me  here,  Bill.     Feeds  for  two." 

"Sure.  We've  done  et,  but  you  go  in  an'  holler  for  Lize. 
She'll  fix  you  up." 

The  fat  landlord  waddled  stableward  and  Loudon  entered 
the  hotel.  A  partition  that  did  not  reach  the  ceiling  divided 
the  sleeping  apartments  from  the  dining  room.  Carelessly 


TOM  LOUDON  9 

hanging  over  the  partition  were  two  shirts  and  someone's 
chaps. 

The  whole  floor  slanted,  for,  as  has  been  said,  the  hotel 
leaned  sidewise.  The  long  table  in  the  dining  room,  covered 
with  cracked  and  scaling  oilcloth,  was  held  unsteadily  upright 
by  three  legs  and  a  cracker  box. 

London,  quite  untouched  by  this  scene  of  shiftlessness, 
hooked  out  a  chair  with  his  foot,  dropped  his  hat  on  the  floor, 
and  sat  down. 

"Oh,  Mis'  Lainey!"  he  called. 

A  female  voice,  somewhat  softened  by  distance  and  a  closed 
door,  instantly  began  to  make  oration  to  the  effect  that  if  any 
lazy  chunker  of  a  puncher  thought  he  was  to  eat  any  food 
he  was  very  much  mistaken. 

The  door  banged  open.  A  slatternly,  scrawny  woman  ap 
peared  in  the  doorway.  She  was  still  talking.  But  the 
clacking  tongue  changed  its  tone  abruptly. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  Tom  Loudon!"  exclaimed  the  lean  woman. 
"How  are  yuh,  anyway?  I'm  shore  glad  to  see  yuh.  I 
thought  yuh  was  one  o'  them  rousy  fellers,  an'  I  wouldn't 
rustle  no  more  chuck  this  noon  for  the  likes  o'  them,  not  if 
they  was  starvin'  an'  their  tongues  was  hangin'  out  a  foot. 
But  yo're  different,  an'  I  ain't  never  forgot  the  time  you  rode 
thirty  mile  for  a  doc  when  my  young  one  was  due  to  cash. 
No,  you  bet  I  ain't!  Now  don't  you  say  nothin*.  You  jest 
set  right  patient  a  short  spell  an'  I'll  rustle " 

The  door  swung  shut,  and  the  remainder  of  the  sentence 
was  lost  in  a  muffled  din  of  pans.  Loudon  winked  at  the 
closed  door  and  grinned. 

He  had  known  the  waspish  Mrs.  Lainey  and  her  paunchy 
husband  since  that  day  when,  newly  come  to  the  Lazy  River 
country,  he  had  met  them,  their  buckboard  wrecked  by  a 
runaway  and  their  one  child  apparently  dying  of  internal 
injuries.  Though  Loudon  always  minimized  what  he  had 
done,  Mrs.  Lainey  and  her  husband  did  not.  And  they  were 
not  folk  whose  memories  are  short. 

In  less  than  twenty  minutes  Mrs.  Lainey  brought  in  a 
steak,  fried  potatoes,  and  coffee.  The  steak  was  fairly  tough, 


10  PARADISE  BEND 

so  were  the  potatoes,  and  the  coffee  required  a  copious  quan 
tity  of  condensed  milk  to  render  it  drinkable.  But  Loudon 
ate  with  a  rider's  appetite.  Mrs.  Lainey,  arms  folded  in  her 
apron,  leaned  against  the  doorjamb,  and  regaled  him  with 
the  news  of  Farewell. 

"Injun  Joe  got  drunk  las'  week  an'  tried  to  hogtie  Riley's 
bear.  It  wasn't  hardly  worth  while  buryin'  Joe,  but  they 
done  it.  Mis'  Stonestreet  has  a  new  baby.  This  one  makes 
the  twelfth.  Yep,  day  before  yestiddy.  Charley's  so  proud 
over  it  he  ain't  been  sober  since.  Slep'  in  the  waterin'- 
trough  las'  night,  so  he  did,  an'  this  mornin'  he  was  drunk  as 
ever.  But  he  never  did  do  things  by  halves,  that  Charley 
Stonestreet.  Ain't  the  heat  awful?  Yep,  it's  worse'n  that. 
Did  yuh  hear  about " 

Poor,  good-hearted  Mrs.  Lainey.  With  her,  speech  was  a 
disease.  Loudon  ate  as  hurriedly  as  he  could,  and  fled  to  the 
sidewalk.  Bill  Lainey,  who  had  fallen  asleep  again,  roused 
sufficiently  to  accept  six  bits. 

"Mighty  drowsy  weather,  Tom,"  he  mumbled. 

"It  must  be,"  said  Loudon.     "So  long." 

Leaving  the  sleepy  Lainey  to  resume  his  favourite  occupa 
tion,  Loudon  walked  away.  Save  Lainey,  no  human  beings 
were  visible  on  the  glaring  street.  In  front  of  the  Palace 
Saloon  two  cow-ponies  drooped.  Near  the  postoffice  stood 
another,  bearing  on  its  hip  the  Cross-in-a-box  brand. 

From  the  door  of  the  postoffice  issued  the  loud  and  cheer 
ful  tones  of  a  voice  whose  owner  was  well  pleased  with  the 
world  at  large. 

"Guess  I'll  get  that  ribbon  first,"  said  Loudon  to  himself, 
and  promptly  walked  behind  the  postoffice. 

He  had  recognized  the  cheerful  voice.  It  was  that  of  his 
friend,  Johnny  Ramsay,  who  punched  cows  for  the  Cross-in- 
a-box  outfit.  And  not  for  a  month's  pay  would  Loudon  have 
had  Johnny  Ramsay  see  him  purchasing  yards  of  red  ribbon. 
Ramsay's  sense  of  humour  was  too  well  developed. 

When  four  houses  intervened  between  himself  and  the 
postoffice  Loudon  returned  to  the  street  and  entered  the 
Blue  Pigeon  Store.  Compared  with  most  Western  frontier 


TOM  LOUDON  11 

stores  the  Blue  Pigeon  was  compactly  neat.     A  broad  counter 
fenced  off  three  sides  of  the  store  proper. 

Behind  the  counter  lines  of  packed  shelves  lined  the 
walls  from  floor  to  ceiling.  Between  the  counter  and  the 
shelves  knotted  ropes,  a  long  arm's-length  apart,  depended 
from  the  rafters.  Above  the  canvas-curtained  doorway  in 
the  rear  hung  the  model  of  a  black-hulled,  slim-sparred 
clipper. 

At  the  jingle  of  London's  spurs  on  the  floor  the  canvas 
curtain  was  pushed  aside,  and  the  proprietor  shuffled  and 
thumped,  for  his  left  leg  was  of  wood,  into  the  store.  He  was 
a  red-headed  man,  was  Mike  Flynn,  the  proprietor,  barrel- 
chested,  hairy-armed,  and  even  the  backs  of  his  ham-like 
hands  were  tattooed. 

"Good  aft'noon  to yuh,  Tom,"  said  Mike  Flynn.  "  'Tis  a 
fine  day — hot,  mabbe,  but  I've  seen  worse  in  the  Horse 
Latitudes.  An' what  is  it  the  day?" 

"Red  ribbon,  Mike,"  replied  London,  devoutly  thankful 
that  no  other  customer  was  in  the  store. 

Mike  glanced  at  the  sample  in  Tom  London's  hand. 

"Shore,  an'  I  have  that  same,  width  an'  all,"  he  said,  and 
forthwith  seizing  one  of  the  knotted  ropes  he  pulled  himself 
hand  over  hand  to  the  top  shelf. 

Hanging  by  one  hand  he  fumbled  a  moment,  then  lowered 
himself  to  the  floor. 

"An'  here  yuh  are!"  he  exclaimed.  "The  finest  ribbon 
that  ever  come  West.  Matches  the  bit  yuh  have  like  a  twin 
brother.  One  dollar  two  bits  a  yard." 

"I'll  take  five  yards." 

"Won't  yuh  be  needin'  a  new  necktie  now?  "  inquired  Mike 
Flynn,  expertly  measuring  off  the  ribbon.  "I've  a  fine  lot  in 
— grane  ones,  an'  blue  ones,  an'  purple  ones  wit'  white  spots, 
an'  some  black  ones  wit'  red  an'  yaller  figgers,  not  to  spake  o* 
some  yaller  ones  wit'  vi'let  horseshoes.  Very  fancy,  thim 
last.  God  be  with  the  ould  days!  Time  was  when  I'd  not 
have  touched  yaller  save  wit'  me  foot,  but  'tis  so  long  since 
I've  hove  a  brick  at  an  Orangeman  that  the  ould  feelin'  ain't 
near  so  strong  as  it  was.  An'  here's  the  ribbon,  Tom.  About 


12  PARADISE  BEND 

them  neckties  now.  They're  worth  seein'.  One  minute  an* 
I'll  delight  yore  eyes." 

Rapidly  Mike  Flynn  stumped  around  to  the  other  side  of 
the  room,  pulled  down  several  long  boxes  and  deftly  laid 
them,  covers  off,  on  the  counter.  Loudon  did  need  a  new 
necktie.  What  man  in  love  does  not?  He  passed  over  the 
yellow  ones  with  violet  horseshoes  so  strongly  recommended 
by  Mike  Flynn,  and  bought  one  of  green  silk. 

"Yo're  a  lad  after  me  own  heart,  Tom  Loudon,"  said 
Mike  Flynn,  wrapping  the  necktie.  "  Grane's  best  when  all's 
said  an'  done.  The  colour  of  ould  Ireland,  God  bless  her. 
An'  here  comes  Johnny  Ramsay." 

Loudon  hastily  stuffed  his  purchases  inside  his  flannel 
shirt,  and  in  a  careless  tone  asked  for  a  box  of  forty-five  calibre 
cartridges.  He  turned  just  in  time  to  ward  off  the  wild  rush 
of  Johnny  Ramsay,  who  endeavoured  to  seize  him  by  the  belt 
and  waltz  him  round  the  store. 

"  Wow !  Wow ! "  yelled  Johnny.  "  How's  Tommy?  How's 
the  boy?  Allemane  left,  you  old  bronc  buster!" 

"Quit  it,  you  idjit ! "  bawled  Loudon,  the  crushing  of  ribbon 
and  necktie  being  imminent. 

Ramsay  stepped  back  and  prodded  London's  breast  with 
an  inquiring  finger. 

"Paddin',"  he  said,  solemnly.  "Tryin'  to  give  yoreself  a 
chest,  ain't  yuh,  you  old  bean-pole?  Ouch!" 

For  Loudon  had  dug  a  hard  knuckle  into  his  friend's  left 
side,  and  it  was  Ramsay's  turn  to  yell.  From  behind  the 
counter  Mike  Flynn  beamed  upon  them.  He  liked  them 
well,  these  careless  youngsters  of  the  range,  and  their  antics 
were  a  source  of  never-ending  amusement. 

Entered  then  a  tall,  lean  man  with  black  hair,  and  a  face 
the  good  looks  of  which  were  somewhat  marred  by  a  thin- 
lipped  mouth  and  sharp,  sinister  eyes.  But  for  all  that  Sam 
Blakely,  the  manager  of  the  88  ranch,  was  a  very  handsome 
man.  He  nodded  to  the  three,  his  lips  parting  over  white 
teeth,  and  asked  Mike  Flynn  for  a  rope. 

"Here's  yore  cartridges,  Tom,"  called  Mike,  and  turned  to 
the  rear  of  the  store. 


TOM  LOUDON  13 

Loudon  picked  up  his  box  of  cartridges,  stuffing  them  into 
a  pocket  in  his  chaps. 

"Let's  irrigate,"  he  said  to  Ramsay. 

"In  a  minute,"  replied  his  friend.  "I  want  some  car 
tridges  my  own  self." 

The  two  sat  down  on  the  counter  to  wait.  Blakely  strolled 
across  to  the  open  boxes  of  neckties. 

"Cravats,"  he  sneered,  fingering  them. 

"An*  fine  ones!"  exclaimed  Mike  Flynn,  slamming 

down  the  coil  of  rope  on  the  counter.  "  Thim  yaller  ones  wit' 
vi'let  spots  now,  yuh  couldn't  beat  'em  in  New  York.  An* 
the  grand  grane  ones.  Ain't  they  the  little  beauts?  I  just 
sold  one  to  Tom  Loudon." 

"Green  shore  does  suit  some  people,"  said  the  88  manager, 
coldly. 

Loudon  felt  Johnny  Ramsay  stiffen  beside  him.  But 
LoudoR  merely  smiled  a  slow,  pleasant  smile. 

''Hirin'  any  new  men,  Sam?"  he  inquired,  softly,  his  right 
hand  cuddling  close  to  his  belt. 

"What  do  yuh  want  to  know  for?"  demanded  Blakely, 
wheeling. 

"Why,  yuh  see,  I  was  thinkin'  o'  quittin'  the  Bar  S,  an* 
I'd  sort  o'  like  to  get  with  a  good,  progressive  outfit,  one  that 
don't  miss  any  chances." 

London's  voice  was  clear  and  incisive.  Each  word  fell 
with  the  precision  of  a  pebble  falling  into  a  well.  Mike 
Flynn  backed  swiftly  out  of  range. 

"What  do  yuh  mean  by  that?"  demanded  Blakely,  his 
gaze  level. 

"What  I  said,"  replied  Loudon,  staring  into  the  other's 
sinister  black  eyes.  "  I  shore  do  hate  to  translate  my  words." 

For  a  long  minute  the  two  men  gazed  steadily  at  each 
other.  Neither  made  a  move.  Blakely 's  hand  hung  at  his 
side.  London's  hand  had  not  yet  touched  his  gun-butt. 
But  Blakely  could  not  know  that,  for  London's  crossed  knees 
concealed  the  position  of  his  hand. 

Loudon  was  giving  Blakely  an  even  chance.  He  knew  that 
Blakely  was  quick  on  the  draw,  but  he  believed  that  he  him- 


14  PARADISE  BEND 

self  was  quicker.  Blakely  evidently  thought,  so  too,  for 
suddenly  he  grunted  and  turned  his  back  on  Loudon. 

"What's  that?"  inquired  Blakely,  pointing  a  finger  at  one 
end  of  the  rope. 

"What— oh,  that!"  exclaimed  Mike.  "Sure,  that's  what 
a  seaman  calls  whippin'.  The  holdfast  was  missin',  an*  the 
rope  was  beginning'  to  unlay,  so  I  whipped  the  end  of  it. 
'Twill  keep  the  rope  from  frayin'  out,  do  yuh  mind.  An'  it's 
the  last  rope  I  have  in  stock,  too." 

Loudon,  watching  Blakely's  hands,  saw  that  what  Mike 
Flynn  called  whipping  was  whip-cord  lapped  tightly  a  dozen 
turns  or  so  round  the  end  of  the  rope.  Blakely,  without 
another  word,  paid  for  the  rope,  picked  it  up,  and  departed, 
head  high,  sublimely  indifferent  to  the  presence  of  Loudon. 
Mike  Flynn  heaved  a  heartfelt  sigh  of  relief. 

"Praise  be!"  he  ejaculated.  "I'd  thought  to  lose  a  cus 
tomer  a  minute  back."  Then,  recollecting  himself,  he  added 
quickly,  "What  was  that  yuh  said  about  cartridges,  Johnny?  " 


CHAPTER  II 

AT     THE     BAR      S 

THAT'S  a  good-lookin'  goat,"  observed  cheerful  Johnny 
Ramsay,  watching  Loudon  throw  the  saddle  on  the 
long-legged  chestnut.     "All  he  needs  is  horns  an'  a 
raa-a-a." 

"What  particular  tune  can  you  play  on  it?"  retorted  Lou 
don,  passing  the  cinch-strap. 

"On  what?"  inquired  Ramsay,  incautiously. 

"On  that  four-legged  accordeon  yo're  straddlin'." 

"I  wouldn't  say  nothin'  about  no  accordeons — not  if  I  was 
abusin'  a  poor  billy  by  cinchin'  a  hull  on  his  back.  Honest, 
Tommy,  don't  yuh  like  ridin'  a  hoss?  'Fraid  he'll  throw  yuh 
or  somethin'?" 

"Don't  yuh  worry  none  about  this  little  cayuse.  He's  all 
hoss,  he  is,  an'  if  yuh  don't  mind,  Johnny,  I'd  be  a  heap 
obliged  if  yuh'd  follow  behind  when  we  ride  out  o*  town. 
Somebody  might  see  us  together  an'  take  yuh  for  a  friend  o' 
mine,  an'  that  wouldn't  do  nohow." 

"Please,  mister,"  whined  Johnny  Ramsay,  "let  me  go  with 
yuh.  I  know  where  there's  a  pile  o'  nice  tomatter  cans  for 
the  goat's  supper.  Red  Rose  tomatter  cans,  too.  There's 
more  nourishment  in  them  kind  than  there  is  in  the  Blue 
Star  brand.  Hey,  quit!" 

Loudon  had  suddenly  flipped  a  broken  horseshoe  at 
the  hindquarters  of  Ramsay's  pony,  that  surprised  animal 
going  into  the  air  immediately.  When  Ramsay  had  quieted 
his  wild-eyed  mount,  the  two  friends  rode  away  together. 

"I  wonder  why  Blakely  didn't  go  to  it,"  remarked  Ram 
say,  when  Farewell  lay  behind  them. 

"  Dunno,"  said  Loudon.  "  He  wasn't  afraid,  yuh  can  gam 
ble  on  that." 

15 


16  PARADISE  BEND 

"I  ain't  none  so  shore.  He's  bad  plumb  through,  Blakely 
is.  An'  he's  a  killer,  by  his  eyes.  I  guess  it  was  just  the 
extra  shade  he  wanted,  an'  the  extra  shade  wasn't  there. 
You'd  'a'  got  him,  Tom." 

"Shore!  But  don't  yuh  make  no  mistake  about  Blakely 
bein'  a  coward.  He  ain't.  He's  seen  trouble,  an'  seen  it  in 
the  smoke." 

"You  mean  Skinner  Jack.  Well,  Jack  wasn't  slow  with  a 
gun,  but  the  other  two  was  Injuns,  an'  they  only  had  Win 
chesters,  an'  Blakely  he  had  a  Sharp's.  So  yuh  can't  tally 
the  war-whoops.  An'  I  did  hear  how  Skinner  Jack  was  drunk 
when  he  called  Blakely  a  liar." 

"I  doubt  it.  Skinner  could  always  hold  his  red-eye. 
More  likely  his  gun  caught." 

"Anyway,  Tommy,  you'd  better  not  go  cavortin'  about  on 
the  skyline  too  plenteous.  It  wouldn't  bother  Blakely  none 
to  bushwhack  yuh." 

"Oh,  he  wouldn't  do  that.  He  ain't  the  bushwhackin* 
kind." 

"  Oh,  ain't  he?  Now  just  because  he  ain't  never  done  noth- 
in'  like  that,  it  don't  prove  he  won't.  He's  got  a  killer's  eyes, 
I  tell  yuh,  an'  drillin'  yuh  would  tickle  him  to  death.  Yuh 
run  a  blazer  on  him,  an'  he  quit  cold.  Other  gents  seen  the 
play.  He  won't  never  forget  that.  He'll  down  yuh  on  the 
square,  or  what  looks  like  an  even  break,  if  he  can.  But  if 
he  can't  he'll  down  yuh  anyway." 

"Rustlers  ramblin'  over  yore  way  any?"  inquired  Loudon 
in  a  meaning  tone. 

Johnny  Ramsay  struck  his  saddle-horn  a  resounding 
thwack  with  his  open  palm. 

"  If  we  could  only  get  him  that  way ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  But 
he's  slicker 'n  axle-grease." 

"The  88  will  brand  one  calf  too  many  some  day.  Hell's 
delight!  What  do  they  do  with  'em?  Yuh  ride  the 
range  an'  yuh  ride  the  range  an'  yuh  don't  find  no  cows 
with  unhealed  brands.  I  seen  twelve,  though,  with  the 
88  brand  that  looked  like  some  gent  had  been  addin'  to 
Bar  S  with  a  runnin'-iron.  But  the  brands  was  all  healed 


AT  THE  BAR  S  17 

up.  Anyway,  we've  lost  forty  cows,  an'  I  dunno  how  many 
calves." 

"They'll  turn  up  again." 

"Shore — carryin'  the  88  brand.  My  idea  is  that  them 
rustlers  brand  'em  an'  then  hold  'em  in  some  blind  canon 
over  near  the  Fallin'  Horse  till  the  burns  heal  up,  an'  then 
they  throw  'em  loose  on  the  range  again.  If  the  cows  do 
drift  across  to  the  Bar  S,  what's  the  dif  ?  They  got  the  88 
brand." 

"That  sounds  good.  Why  don't  yuh  take  a  little  wander 
'round  the  scenery  near  the  Fallin'  Horse?" 

"I  have;  I  didn't  see  nothin'.  But  they  got  'em  hid  some 
where  all  right.  One  day  I  runs  across  Marvin,  an'  I  had  a 
job  losin'  him.  He  stuck  to  me  closer'n  tar  all  day.  He  was 
worried  some,  I  seen  that." 

"Goin'  back?" 

"Till  I  find  their  cache,  I  am." 

"That's  another  reason  for  makin'  Blakely  so  friendly. 
He  knows  yuh  won't  stop  lookin'.  Ain't  it  the  devil  an'  all? 
The  measly  Sheriff  just  squats  down  on  his  hunkers  an'  does 
nothin'  while  we  lose  cows  in  car-lots.  An'  when  our  cows  go, 
we  kiss  'em  good-bye.  They  never  come  back — not  even 
with  their  brand  altered.  Yuh  can't  change  Cross-in-a-box 
to  88." 

"With  the  Bar  S  it's  a  cinch.  But  the  boss  won't  use  an 
other  brand.  Not  him.  He'll  stick  to  Bar  S  till  he  ain't  got 
a  cow  to  run  the  iron  on." 

"Oh,  it's  a  great  system  the  88  outfit  are  workin'!  An' 
with  Sheriff  Block  an'  most  all  o'  Marysville  an'  Farewell  their 
friends  it's  a  hard  game  to  buck.  Talk  o'  law!  There  ain't 
none  in  Fort  Creek  County." 

"The  only  play  is  Vigilantes,  an'  it  can't  come  to  them  till 
there's  proof.  We  all  know  Blakely  an'  the  88  bunch  are 
up  to  their  hocks  in  this  rustlin'  deal,  but  we  can't  prove 
it." 

"There's  the  worst  o'  bein'  straight,"  complained  Johnny 
Ramsay.  "Yuh  know  some  tinhorn  is  a-grabbin'  all  yuh 
own.  Yo're  certain  shore  who  the  gent  is,  but  yuh  can't  hop 


18  PARADISE  BEND 

out  an'  bust  him  without  yuh  catch  him  a-grabbin'  or  else 
a-wearin'  yore  pet  pants." 

"That's  whatever,"  agreed  Loudon. 

Five  miles  out  of  Farewell,  where  the  trail  forked,  one 
branch  leading  southeast  to  the  Cross-in-a-box,  the  other  to 
the  Bar  S,  Loudon  checked  his  horse. 

"  Keep  a-goinV '  said  Johnny  Ramsay.  "  I'm  travellin'  with 
you  a  spell.  I'm  kind  o'  sick  o'  that  old  trail.  I've  rode  it  so 
frequent  I  know  all  the  rocks  an'  the  cotton-woods  by  their 
first  names." 

Which  explanation  Loudon  did  not  accept  at  its  face  value. 
He  understood  perfectly  why  Ramsay  continued  to  ride 
with  him.  Ramsay  believed  that  Blakely  would  endeavour 
to  drop  Loudon  from  ambush,  and  it  is  well  known  that  a 
gentleman  lying  in  wait  for  another  will  often  stay  his 
hand  when  his  intended  victim  is  accompanied.  Neither 
Loudon  nor  Ramsay  made  any  mention  of  the  true  inward 
ness  of  his  thoughts.  They  had  been  friends  for  a  long 
time. 

Climbing  the  long  slope  of  Indian  Ridge,  they  scanned_the 
trail  warily.  But  nowhere  did  the  hoofprints  of  Blakely 's 
horse  leave  the  dust  of  the  trail.  On  the  reverse  slope  of  the 
ridge  they  picked  up  the  larger  hoofprints  of  Block's  horse. 
Fair  and  plain  the  two  sets  of  marks  led  southward. 

"Wonder  who  the  other  gent  was,"  hazarded  Ramsay. 

"Block,"  said  Loudon,  "I  met  him  this  mornin*.  I  was 
puttin'  holes  in  his  notice,  an'  he  didn't  like  it  none." 

"Did  he  chatter  much?" 

"He  talked  a  few,  but  nothin'  to  hurt." 

"The  tinhorn!"  laughed  Ramsay.  "Bet  he's  goin'  to  the 
88." 

"It's  some  likely.  We'll  know  when  we  reach  Long 
Coulee." 

They  reached  Long  Coulee,  where  the  trail  to  the  88  swung 
westward,  as  the  sun  was  dropping  behind  the  far-away  peaks 
of  the  Three  Sisters  Mountains.  Loudon  slipped  his  feet 
from  the  stirrups  and  stretched  luxuriously.  But  he  did 
not  feel  luxurious. 


AT  THE  BAR  S  19 

As  he  had  expected,  Block  had  turned  into  the  88  trail, 
but  as  he  had  not  expected  Blakely  had  ridden  straight  on 
toward  the  Bar  S.  Which  latter  event  was  disquieting,  not 
that  Loudon  feared  an  act  of  violence  on  the  part  of  Blakely, 
but  because  Kate's  evening  would  be  preempted  by  his 
enemy. 

Loudon  keenly  desired  to  talk  to  Kate  that  evening.  He 
had  a  great  many  things  to  tell  her,  and  now  the  coming  of 
Blakely  spoiled  it  all. 

"The  nerve  o'  some  folks,"  remarked  Johnny  Ramsay, 
eying  the  tracks  of  Blakely's  horse  with  disfavour.  "Better 
tell  old  Salt  to  lock  up  the  silver  an'  the  cuckoo  clock.  No 
offence  now,  Tommy,  but  if  I  was  you,  I'd  sleep  in  the  corral 
to-night.  Blakely  might  take  a  fancy  to  the  goat." 

"I  shore  hope  he  does,"  grinned  Loudon.  "It  would  ease 
the  strain  some." 

"Make  it  complete,  old  beanpole,  when  you  do  call  the 
turn.  Well,  I  got  to  be  skippin*.  Give  my  love  to  old  Salt. 
So  long." 

"So  long." 

Johnny  Ramsay  picked  up  his  reins,  wheeled  his  pony, 
and  fox-trotted  away.  He  felt  that  further  accompanying  of 
Loudon  was  unnecessary.  The  danger  of  an  ambush  was  past. 
Riding  with  Loudon  had  taken  Ramsay  some  fifteen  miles 
out  of  his  way,  and  twenty-five  long  miles  lay  between  his 
pony's  nose  and  the  corral  bars  of  the  Cross-in-a-box  ranch. 
But  Ramsay  wasted  not  a  thought  on  his  lengthened  journey. 
He  would  have  ridden  cheerfully  across  the  territory  and 
back  again  in  order  to  benefit  a  friend. 

"Come  on,  fellah,"  said  Loudon,  when  Ramsay  had  gone. 

The  chestnut  moved  off  at  a  walk.  Loudon  did  not  hurry 
him.  He  took  out  his  papers  and  tobacco  and  rolled  a 
cigarette  with  neatness  and  despatch.  Tilting  back  his  head, 
he  blew  the  first  lungful  of  smoke  straight  up  into  the  air. 

"It  wouldn't  be  right  for  her  to  marry  him,"  he  observed. 
"She  shore  is  one  pretty  girl.  I  wonder  now  if  I  have  got 
any  chance.  She's  rich,  an*  I  ain't,  but  I  shore  do  love  her 
a  lot.  Kate  Loudon — that's  a  right  nice-soundin'  name." 


20  PARADISE  BEND 

He  lowered  his  head  and  smoked  silently  for  several  min 
utes.  The  horse,  reins  on  his  neck,  swung  along  steadily. 

"Ranger  fellah,"  said  London,  "she'd  ought  to  be  willin' 
to  wait  till  we  make  a  stake,  oughtn't  she  now?  That's  right. 
Wiggle  one  ear  for  yes.  You  know,  don't  yuh,  old  tiger-eye?  " 

When  the  lights  of  the  ranch  sparked  across  the  flat, 
Ranger  pointed  his  ears,  lifted  his  head,  and  broke  into  a  fox 
trot.  Passing  the  ranch  house,  on  his  way  to  the  corral, 
London  heard  the  merry  tinkle  of  a  guitar.  Through  an 
open  window  London  saw  the  squat  figure  of  Mr.  Saltoun  bent 
over  a  desk.  On  the  porch,  in  the  corner  where  the  hammock 
hung,  flickered  the  glowing  tip  of  a  cigarette.  With  a  double 
thrum  of  swept  strings  the  guitar-player  in  the  hammock 
swung  from  "The  Kerry  Dance"  into  "Loch  Lomond." 

London  swore  under  his  breath,  and  rode  on. 

Jimmy,  the  cook,  and  Chuck  Morgan,  one  of  the  punchers, 
were  lying  in  their  bunks  squabbling  over  the  respective 
merits  of  Texas  and  New  Mexico  when  London  entered  the 
bunkhouse.  Both  men  immediately  ceased  wrangling  and 
demanded  letters. 

"I  ain't  read  'em  all  yet,"  replied  London,  dropping  his 
saddle  and  bridle  in  a  corner.  "Wait  till  to-morrow." 

"Jimmy's  expectin'  one  from  a  red-headed  gal,"  grinned 
Chuck  Morgan.  "He's  been  restless  all  day.  'Will  she 
write?'  says  he,  'an'  I  wonder  if  she's  sick  or  somethinV 
Don't  you  worry  none,  cookie.  Them  red-headed  gals  live 
forever.  They're  tough,  same  as  a  yaller  hoss." 

"  You  shut  up ! "  exclaimed  Jimmy.  "  Who'd  write  to  you, 
you  frazzled  end  of  a  misspent  life?  D'jever  look  at  yoreself 
in  the  glass?  You!  Huh!  Gimme  my  letter,  Tommy." 

"Letter?  What  letter?  I  didn't  say  there  was  a  letter 
for  yuh." 

"Well,  ain't  there?" 

"You  gimme  somethin*  to  eat,  an*  then  we'll  talk  about 
letters." 

"  You  got  a  nerve ! "  roared  the  cook,  indignantly.  "  Corn- 
in*  rollickin'  in  'round  midnight  an'  want  yore  chuck  I  Well, 
there  it  is" — indicating  Chuck  Morgan — "go  eat  it/' 


AT  THE  BAR  S  21 

"You  fry  him  an'  I  will.  I'll  gamble  he  wouldn't  taste  any 
worse  than  them  steaks  you've  been  dishin'  out  lately." 

"You  punchers  gimme  a  pain,"  growled  the  cook,  swinging 
his  legs  out  of  the  bunk.  "Always  eatin,'  eatin'.  I  never 
seen  nothin'  like  it  nohow." 

"He's  sore  'cause  Buff  put  a  li'l  dead  snake  in  his  bunk," 
explained  Chuck  Morgan  placidly.  "Just  a  li'l  snake — not 
more'n  three  foot  long  at  the  outside.  He  shore  is  the  most 
fault-findin'  feller,  that  Jimmy  is." 

"There  ain't  anythin'  for  yuh,  Chuck,"  said  Loudon. 
"Here's  yore  letter,  Jimmy." 

The  cook  seized  the  grimy  missive  and  retreated  to  his 
kitchen.  Twenty  minutes  later  Loudon  was  eating  supper. 
He  ate  leisurely.  He  was  in  no  hurry  to  go  up  to  the  ranch 
house. 

"  Got  the  makin's ! "  Chuck  Morgan's  voice  was  a  roar. 

"Be  careful,"  said  Loudon,  turning  a  slow  head.  "Yo're 
liable  to  strain  yore  throat,  an'  for  a  fellah  talkin'  as  much  as 
you  do,  that  would  shore  be  a  calamity." 

"It  shore  would,"  agreed  Morgan.  "I  only  asked  yuh 
for  the  makin's  three  times  before  I  hollered." 

"Holler  first  next  time,"  advised  Loudon,  tossing  paper 
and  tobacco  across  to  Morgan.  "Have  yuh  got  matches? 
Perhaps  yuh'd  like  me  to  roll  yuh  a  pill  an'  then  light  it  for 
yuh?" 

"Oh,  that  ain't  necessary;  none  whatever.  I  got  matches. 
They're  all  I  got  left.  This  aft'noon  Jimmy  says  'gimme  a 
pipeful,'  an'  I  wants  to  say  right  here  that  any  jigger  that'll 
smoke  a  pipe  will  herd  sheep.  'Gimme  a  load,'  says  Jimmy. 
'Shore,'  says  I,  an*  Jimmy  bulges  up  holdin'  the  father  of  all 
corncobs  in  his  hand.  I  forks  over  my  bag,  an'  Jimmy 
wades  in  to  fill  the  pipe.  But  that  pipe  don't  fill  up  for  a 
plugged  nickel. 

"He  upends  my  bag,  shakes  her  empty,  an'  hands  her  back. 
*  Thanks,'  says  Jimmy.  'That's  all  right,'  I  says,  'keep  the 
bag,  too.  It  11  fit  in  right  handy  to  mend  yore  shirt  with, 
maybe.'  Come  to  find  out,  that  pipe  o'  Jimmy's  hadn't  no 
bottom  in  her,  an'  all  the  tobacco  run  through  an'  into  a  bag 


22  PARADISE  BEND 

Jimmy  was  holdin'  underneath.  A  reg'lar  Injun  trick,  that 
is.  Yuh  can't  tell  me  Jimmy  ain't  been  a  squaw-man. 
Digger  Injuns,  too,  I'll  bet." 

Jimmy,  leaning  against  the  door-jamb,  laughed  up 
roariously. 

"Yah,"  he  yelped.  "I'll  teach  yuh  to  steal  my  socks,  I 
will.  I'd  just  washed  a  whole  pair  an*  I  was  a-dryin'  'em 
behind  the  house,  an'  along  comes  Chuck  an'  gloms  both  of 
'em,  the  hawg." 

Leaving  the  two  wrangling  it  out  between  them,  Loudon 
pushed  back  his  chair  and  went  to  the  door.  For  a  time  he 
stood  looking  out  into  the  night.  Then  he  went  to  his  saddle, 
picked  up  the  bag  containing  the  mail  for  Mr.  Saltoun,  and 
left  the  bunkhouse. 

On  the  way  to  the  ranch  house  he  took  out  of  his  shirt  the 
parcel  of  ribbon  and  smoothed  it  out.  Skirting  the  house  on 
the  side  farthest  from  the  porch  corner  where  sat  Kate  and 
Blakely,  Loudon  entered  the  kitchen  and  walked  through  the 
dining  room  to  the  open  doorway  of  the  office.  Mr.  Saltoun 
half  turned  at  Loudon's  entrance. 

"Hello,"  said  Mr.  Saltoun,  screwing  up  his  eyes.  "I  was 
just  wonderin'  when  you'd  pull  in." 

"  'Lo,"  returned  Loudon.  "Here's  the  mail,  an*  here's  a 
package  for  Miss  Kate." 

There  was  a  rush  of  skirts,  and  handsome,  black-haired 
Kate  Saltoun,  her  dark  eyes  dancing,  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"Did  you  get  my  ribbon,  Tom?"  cried  she,  and  pounced 
on  the  flat  parcel  before  Loudon  could  reply. 

She  smiled  and  glowed  and  held  the  ribbon  under  her  olive 
chin,  exclaimed  over  it  and  thanked  Loudon  all  in  a  breath. 
Her  father  beamed  upon  her.  He  loved  this  handsome  girl 
of  his. 

"Come  out  on  the  porch,  Tom,"  said  Kate,  "when  you're 
through  with  father.  Mr.  Blakely 's  here.  Thank  you  again 
for  bringing  my  ribbon." 

Kate  swished  away,  and  Mr.  Saltoun's  beaming  expression 
vanished  also.  Mr.  Saltoun  was  not  especially  keen.  He 
rarely  saw  anything  save  the  obvious,  but  for  several  weeks 


AT  THE  BAR  S  23 

he  had  been  under  the  impression  that  Kate  and  this  tall, 
lean  puncher  with  the  gray  eyes  were  too  friendly. 

And  here  was  Kate,  while  entertaining  the  88  manager, 
inviting  Loudon  to  join  her  on  the  porch.  Mr.  Saltoun  was 
ambitious  for  his  daughter.  He  had  not  the  remotest  inten 
tion  of  receiving  into  his  family  a  forty-dollar-a-month  cow 
hand.  He  would  have  relished  firing  Loudon.  But  the 
latter  was  a  valuable  man.  He  was  the  best  rider  and  roper 
in  the  outfit.  Good  cowboys  do  not  drift  in  on  the  heels  of 
every  vagrant  breeze. 

Mr.  Saltoun  resolved  to  keep  an  eye  on  Loudon  and  arrange 
matters  so  that  Kate  and  the  puncher  should  meet  seldom, 
if  at  all.  He  knew  better  than  to  speak  to  his  daughter. 
That  would  precipitate  matters. 

By  long  experience  Mr.  Saltoun  had  learned  that  opposi 
tion  always  stiffened  Kate's  determination.  From  babyhood 
her  father  had  spoiled  her.  Consequently  the  Kate  of  twenty- 
three  was  hopelessly  intractable. 

Mr.  Saltoun  drummed  on  the  desk-top  with  a  pencil. 
Loudon  shifted  his  feet.  He  had  mumbled  a  non-committal 
reply  to  Kate's  invitation.  Not  for  a  great  deal  would  he 
have  joined  the  pair  on  the  porch.  But  Mr.  Saltoun  did  not 
know  that. 

"Chuck  tells  me,"  said  Mr.  Saltoun,  suddenly,  "that  he 
jerked  five  cows  out  o'  that  mud-hole  on  Pack-saddle  Creek 
near  Box  Hill.  Yeah,  that  one.  To-morrow  I  want  yuh 
to  ride  along  Pack-saddle  an*  take  a  look  at  them  other  two 
holes  between  Box  Hill  an'  Fishtail  Coolee.  If  yuh  see  any 

cows  driftin'  west,  head  'em  east.  When  that barb-wire 

comes — if  it  ever  does,  an'  I  ordered  it  a  month  ago — you  an* 
Chuck  can  fence  them  three  mud-holes.  Better  get  an  early 
start,  Tom." 

"All  right,"  said  Loudon,  and  made  an  unhurried  with 
drawal — by  way  of  the  kitchen. 

Once  in  the  open  air  Loudon  smiled  a  slow  smile.  He  had 
correctly  divined  the  tenor  of  his  employer's  thoughts.  Be 
fore  he  reached  the  bunkhouse  Loudon  had  resolved  to 
propose  to  Kate  Saltoun  within  forty-eight  hours. 


CHAPTER    III 

SHOTS     ON     PACK-SADDLE 

"I  woke  up  one  mornin'  on  the  old  Chisolm  trail, 
Rope  in  my  hand  an'  a  cow  by  the  tail. 
Crippled  my  hoss,  I  don't  know  how, 
Ropin'  at  the  horns  of  a  2-U  cow." 

THUS  SANG  Loudon,  carrying  saddle  and  bridle  to  the 
corral  in  the  blue  light  of  dawn.  Chuck  Morgan  was 
before  him  at  the  corral,  and  wrestling  with  a  fractious 
gray  pony. 

"Whoa!  yuh  son  of  sin!"  yelled  Morgan,  wrenching  the 
pony's  ear.  "Stand  still,  or  I'll  cave  in  yore  slats!" 

"Kick  him  again,"  advised  Loudon,  flicking  the  end  of  his 
rope  across  the  back  of  a  yellow  beast  with  a  black  mane  and 
tail. 

The  yellow  horse  stopped  trotting  instantly.  He  was  rope- 
broke.  It  was  unnecessary  to  "fasten,"  thanks  to  Loudon's 
training. 

"They  say  yuh  oughtn't  to  exercise  right  after  eatin',"  con 
tinued  Loudon,  genially.  "An*  yo're  mussin'  up  this  nice 
corral,  too,  Chuck." 

"I'll  muss  up  this  nice  little  gray  devil!"  gasped  Chuck. 

"When  I  git  on  him  I'll  plow  the  hide  offen  him.  his 

soul!  He's  half  mule." 

"  He  takes  yuh  for  a  relative ! "  called  Jimmy,  who  had  come 
up  unobserved.  "Relatives  never  do  git  along  nohow!" 

Jimmy  fled,  pursued  by  pebbles.  The  panting  and  out 
raged  Chuck  returned  to  his  task  of  passing  the  rear  cinch. 
Still  swearing,  he  joined  Loudon  at  the  gate.  The  two  rode 
away  together. 

"That  sorrel  o'  Blakely  s,"  observed  Chuck,  his  fingers 

24 


SHOTS  ON  PACK-SADDLE  25 

busy  with  paper  and  tobacco,  "is  shore  as  pretty  as  a  little 
red  wagon." 

"Yeah,"  mumbled  Loudon. 

"I  was  noticin'  him  this  mornm',"  continued  Chuck  Mor 
gan.  "He's  got  the  cleanest  set  o'  legs  I  ever  seen." 

"This  mornin',"  said  Loudon,  slowly,  "Where'd  yuhsee 
Blakely's  sorrel  this  mornin'?" 

"In  the  little  corral.  He's  in  there  with  the  Old  Man's 
string." 

Loudon  pulled  his  hat  forward  and  started  methodically  to 
roll  a  cigarette.  So  Blakely  had  spent  the  night  at  the  ranch. 
This  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  stayed  overnight. 

What  did  it  mean?  Calling  on  Kate  was  one  thing,  but 
spending  the  night  was  quite  another. 

With  the  fatuous  reasoning  of  a  man  deeply  in  love,  Loudon 
refused  to  believe  that  Blakely  could  be  sailing  closer  to  the 
wind  of  Kate's  affections  than  he  himself.  Yet  there  re 
mained  the  fact  of  Blakely's  extended  visit. 

"We've  been  losin'  right  smart  o'  cows  lately,"  remarked 
Chuck  Morgan. 

"What's  the  use  o'  talkin'?"  exclaimed  Loudon,  bitterly. 
"The  Old  Man  says  we  ain't,  an'  he's  the  boss." 

"He  won't  say  so  after  the  round-up.  He'll  sweat  blood 
then.  If  I  could  only  catch  one  of  'em  at  it.  Just  one. 
But  them  thievin'  88  boys  are  plumb  wise.  An'  the  Old  Man 
thinks  they're  little  he-angels  with  four  wings  apiece." 

"Yuh  can't  tell  him  nothin'.     He  knows." 

"An'  Blakely  comes  an'  sets  around,  an'  the  Old  Man  laps 
up  all  he  says  like  a  cat,  an'  Blakely  grins  behind  his  teeth. 
I'd  shore  like  to  know  his  opinion  o'  the  Old  Man." 

"An'  us." 

"An' us.  Shore.  The  Old  Man  can't  be  expected  to  know 
as  much  as  us.  You  can  gamble  an'  go  the  limit  Blakely  has- 
us  sized  up  for  sheep-woolly  baa-lambs." 

Morgan  made  a  gesture  of  exasperation. 

"We  will  be  sheep,"  exclaimed  Loudon,  "if  we  don't 
pick  up  somethin'  against  the  88  before  the  round-up !  We're 
full-sized,  two-legged  men,  ain't  we?  Got  eyes,  ain't  we? 


26  PARADISE  BEND 

There  ain't  nothin*  the  matter  with  our  hands,  is  there? 
Yet  them  88  boys  put  it  all  over  our  shirt.  Blakely's 
right.  We're  related  plumb  close  to  sheep,  an'  blind  sheep 
at  that." 

"Them  88  boys  have  all  the  luck," grunted  Chuck  Morgan. 
"But  their  luck  will  shore  break  if  I  see  any  of  'em  a-foolin' 
with  our  cows.  So  long." 

Chuck  Morgan  rode  off  eastward.  His  business  was  with 
the  cattle  near  Cow  Creek,  which  stream  was  one  of  the 
two  dividing  the  Bar  S  range  from  that  of  the  Cross-in-a- 
box.  Loudon,  his  eyes  continually  sliding  from  side  to  side, 
loped  onward.  An  hour  later  he  forded  the  Lazy  River, 
and  rode  along  the  bank  to  the  mouth  of  Pack-saddle 
Creek. 

The  course  he  was  following  was  not  the  shortest  route  to 
the  two  mud-holes  between  Box  Hill  and  Fishtail  Coulee. 
But  south  of  the  Lazy  the  western  line  of  the  Bar  S  was 
marked  by  Pack-saddle  Creek,  and  Loudon 's  intention  was  to 
ride  along  the  creek  from  mouth  to  source. 

There  had  been  no  rain  for  a  month.  If  any  cows  had  been 
driven  across  the  stream  he  would  know  it.  Twice  before  he 
had  ridden  the  line  of  the  creek,  but  his  labours  had  not  been 
rewarded.  Yet  Loudon  did  not  despair.  His  was  a  hopeful 
soul. 

Occasionally,  as  he  rode,  he  saw  cows.  Here  and  there  on 
the  bank  were  cloven  hoofprints,  showing  where  cattle  had 
come  down  to  drink.  But  none  of  them  had  crossed  since 
the  rain.  And  there  were  no  marks  of  ponies'  feet. 

At  the  mud-hole  near  Box  Hill  a  lone  cow  stood  belly-deep, 
stolidly  awaiting  death. 

"Yuh  poor  idjit,"  commented  Loudon,  and  loosed  his 
rope  from  the  saddle-horn. 

The  loop  settled  around  the  cow's  horns.  The  yellow 
pony,  cunningly  holding  his  body  sidewise  that  the  saddle 
might  not  be  pulled  over  his  tail,  strained  with  all  four  legs. 

"C'mon,  Lemons!"  encouraged  Loudon.  "C'mon,  boy! 
Yuh  old  yellow  lump  o'  bones!  Heave!  Head  or  cow,  she's 
got  to  come!" 


SHOTS  ON  PACK-SADDLE  27 

Thus  adjured  the  pony  strove  mightily.  The  cow  also 
exerted  itself.  Slowly  the  tenacious  grip  of  the  mud  was 
broken.  With  a  suck  and  a  plop  the  cow  surged  free.  It 
stood,  shaking  its  head. 

Swiftly  Loudon  disengaged  his  rope,  slapped  the  cow  with 
the  end  of  it,  and  urged  the  brute  inland. 

Having  chased  the  cow  a  full  half-mile  he  returned  to  the 
mud-hole  and  dismounted.  For  he  had  observed  that  upon 
a  rock  ledge  above  the  mud-hole  which  he  wished  to  inspect 
more  closely.  What  he  had  noted  was  a  long  scratch  across 
the  face  of  the  broad  flat  ledge  of  rock.  But  for  his  having 
been  drawn  in  close  to  the  ledge  by  the  presence  of  the  cow 
in  the  mud-hole,  this  single  scratch  would  undoubtedly  have 
escaped  his  attention. 

Loudon  leaned  over  and  scrutinized  the  scratch.  It  was 
about  a  foot  long,  a  quarter  of  an  inch  broad  at  one  end, 
tapering  roughly  to  a  point.  Ordinarily  such  a  mark  would 
have  interested  Loudon  not  at  all,  but  under  the  circum 
stances  it  might  mean  much.  The  side-slip  of  a  horse's  iron- 
shod  hoof  had  made  it.  This  was  plain  enough.  It  was 
evident,  too,  that  the  horse  had  been  ridden.  A  riderless 
horse  does  not  slip  on  gently  sloping  rocks. 

Other  barely  visible  abrasions  showed  that  the  horse  had 
entered  the  water.  Why  had  someone  elected  to  cross  at 
this  point?  Pack-saddle  Creek  was  fordable  in  many  places. 
Below  the  mud-hole  four  feet  and  less  was  the  depth.  But 
opposite  the  rock  ledge  was  a  scour-hole  fully  ten  feet  deep 
shallowing  to  eight  in  the  middle  of  the  stream.  Here  was 
no  crossing  for  an  honest  man  in  his  senses.  But  for  one  of 
questionable  purpose,  anxious  to  conceal  his  trail  as  much  as 
possible,  no  better  could  be  chosen. 

"Good  thing  his  hoss  slipped,"  said  Loudon,  and  returned 
to  the  waiting  Lemons. 

Mounting  his  horse  he  forded  the  creek  and  rode  slowly 
along  the  bank.  Opposite  the  lower  end  of  the  ledge  he  found 
that  which  he  sought.  In  the  narrow  belt  of  bare  ground 
between  the  water's  edge  and  the  grass  were  the  tracks 
of  several  cows  and  one  pony.  Straight  up  from  the  water 


28  PARADISE  BEND 

the  trail  led,  and  vanished  abruptly  when  it  reached  the 
grass. 

"Five  cows,'*  said  Loudon.  "Nothin*  mean  about  that 
jigger." 

He  bent  down  to  examine  the  tracks  more  closely,  and  as 
he  stooped  a  rifle  cracked  faintly,  and  a  bullet  whisped  over 
his  bowed  back. 

Loudon  jammed  home  both  spurs,  and  jumped  Lemons  for 
ward.  Plying  his  quirt,  he  looked  over  his  shoulder. 

A  puff  of  smoke  suddenly  appeared  above  a  rock  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  downstream  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  creek.  The 
bullet  tucked  into  the  ground  close  beside  the  pony's  drum 
ming  hoofs. 

Loudon  jerked  his  Winchester  from  its  scabbard  under  his 
leg,  turned  in  the  saddle,  and  fired  five  shots  as  rapidly  as  he 
could  work  the  lever.  He  did  not  expect  to  score  a  hit,  but 
earnestly  hoped  to  shake  the  hidden  marksman's  aim.  He 
succeeded  but  lamely. 

The  enemy's  third  shot  cut  through  his  shirt  under  the  left 
armpit,  missing  the  flesh  by  a  hair's-breadth.  Loudon  raced 
over  the  lip  of  a  swell  just  as  a  fourth  shot  ripped  through  his 
hat. 

Hot  and  angry,  Loudon  jerked  Lemons  to  a  halt  half-way 
down  the  reverse  slope.  Leaving  his  horse  tied  to  the  ground 
he  ran  back  and  lay  down  below  the  crest.  He  removed  his 
hat  and  wriggled  forward  to  the  top. 

Cautiously  lifting  his  head  he  surveyed  the  position  of  his 
unknown  opponent.  A  half-mile  distant,  on  the  Bar  S  side 
of  the  Pack-saddle,  was  the  rock  which  sheltered  the  marks 
man.  A  small  dark  dot  appeared  above  it. 

Taking  a  long  aim  Loudon  fired  at  the  dot.  As  he  jerked 
down  the  lever  to  reload,  a  gray  smoke-puff  mushroomed  out 
at  the  lower  right-hand  corner  of  the  rock,  and  a  violent 
shock  at  the  elbow  numbed  his  right  hand. 

Loudon  rolled  swiftly  backward,  sat  up,  and  stared  won- 
deringly  at  his  two  hands.  One  held  his  Winchester,  but 
gripped  in  the  cramped  fingers  of  the  right  hand  was  the 
bent  and  broken  lever  of  the  rifle.  The  bullet  of  the  sharp- 


SHOTS  ON  PACK-SADDLE  29 

shooting  citizen  had  struck  the  lever  squarely  on  the  upper 
end,  snapped  the  pin,  torn  loose  the  lever,  and  hopelessly 
damaged  the  loading  mechanism. 

"That  jigger  can  shore  handle  a  gun,"  remarked  Loudon. 
"  If  this  ain't  one  lovely  fix  for  a  Christian !  Winchester  no 
good,  only  a  six-shooter,  an'  a  fully-organized  miracle-worker 
a-layin'  for  my  hide.  I'm  a-goin'  somewhere,  an'  I'm  goin' 
right  now." 

He  dropped  the  broken  lever  and  rubbed  his  numbed 
fingers  till  sensation  returned.  Then  he  put  on  his  hat  and 
hurried  down  to  his  horse. 

He  jammed  the  rifle  into  the  scabbard,  mounted,  and  rode 
swiftly  southward,  taking  great  pains  to  keep  to  the  low 
ground. 

A  mile  farther  on  he  forded  the  creek  and  gained  the  shelter 
of  an  outflung  shoulder  of  Box  Hill. 

Near  the  top  Loudon  tied  Lemons  to  a  tree  and  went  for 
ward  on  foot.  Cautiously  as  an  Indian,  Loudon  traversed 
the  flat  top  of  the  hill  and  squatted  down  in  a  bunch  of  tall 
grass  between  two  pines.  From  this  vantage-point  his  field 
of  view  was  wide.  The  rock  ledge  and  the  mud-hole  were  in 
plain  sight.  So  was  the  rock  from  which  he  had  been  fired 
upon.  It  was  a  long  mile  distant,  and  it  lay  near  the  crest 
of  a  low  hog's-back  close  to  the  creek. 

"He's  got  his  hoss  down  behind  the  swell,"  muttered  Lou 
don.  "Wish  this  hill  was  higher." 

Loudon  pondered  the  advisability  of  climbing  a  tree.  He 
wished  very  much  to  obtain  a  view  of  the  depression  behind 
the  hog's-back.  He  finally  decided  to  remain  where  he  was. 
It  was  just  possible  that  the  hostile  stranger  might  be  pro 
vided  with  field  glasses.  In  which  case  tree-climbing  would 
invite  more  bullets,  and  the  shooting  of  the  enemy  was  too 
nearly  accurate  for  comfort. 

Loudon  settled  himself  comfortably  in  his  bunch  of  grass 
and  watched  intently.  Fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  later 
what  was  apparently  a  part  of  the  rock  detached  itself  and 
disappeared  behind  the  crest  of  the  hog's-back. 

Soon  the  tiny  figure  of  a  mounted  man  came  into  view  on 


30  PARADISE  BEND 

the  flat  beyond.  Horse  and  rider  moved  rapidly  across  the 
level  ground  and  vanished  behind  a  knoll.  When  the  rider 
reappeared  he  was  not  more  than  nine  hundred  yards  distant 
and  galloping  hard  on  a  course  paralleling  the  base  of  the 
hill. 

"Good  eye,"  chuckled  Loudon.  "Coin*  to  surround  me. 
I'd  admire  to  hear  what  he  says  when  he  finds  out  I  ain't  be 
hind  that  swell." 

The  stranger  splashed  across  the  creek  and  raced  toward 
some  high  ground  in  the  rear  of  London's  old  position. 

Now  that  the  enemy  had  headed  westward  there  was  noth 
ing  to  be  gained  by  further  delay. 

Loudon  had  plenty  of  courage,  but  one  requires  more  than 
bravery  and  a  six-shooter  with  which  to  pursue  and  success 
fully  combat  a  gentleman  armed  with  a  Winchester. 

Hastily  retreating  to  his  horse,  Loudon  scrambled  into  the 
saddle,  galloped  across  the  hilltop  and  rode  down  the  eastern 
slope  at  a  speed  exceedingly  perilous  to  his  horse's  legs.  But 
the  yellow  horse  somehow  contrived  to  keep  his  footing  and 
reached  the  bottom  with  no  damage  other  than  skinned  hocks. 

Once  on  level  ground  Loudon  headed  southward,  and 
Lemons,  that  yellow  bundle  of  nerves  and  steel  wire,  stretched 
out  his  neck  and  galloped  with  all  the  heart  that  was  in  him. 

London's  destination  was  a  line-camp  twelve  miles  down 
the  creek.  This  camp  was  the  temporary  abode  of  two  Bar  S 
punchers,  who  were  riding  the  country  south  of  Fishtail 
Coulee.  Loudon  knew  that  both  men  had  taken  their  Win 
chesters  with  them  when  they  left  the  ranch,  and  he  hoped  to 
find  one  of  the  rifles  in  the  dugout. 

With  a  rifle  under  his  leg  Loudon  felt  that  the  odds  would 
be  even,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  enemy  had  an  uncanny 
mastery  of  the  long  firearm.  London's  favourite  weapon  was 
the  six-shooter,  and  he  was  at  his  best  with  it.  A  rifle  in  his 
hands  was  not  the  arm  of  precision  it  became  when  Johnny 
Ramsay  squinted  along  the  sights.  For  Johnny  was  an  ex 
pert. 

"Keep  a-travellin',  little  hoss,  keep  a-travellin',"  encour 
aged  Loudon.  "  Split  the  breeze.  That's  the  boy ! " 


SHOTS  ON  PACK-SADDLE  31 

Loudon  had  more  than  one  reason  for  being  anxious  to 
join  issue  with  the  man  who  had  attacked  him.  At  nine 
hundred  yards  one  cannot  recognize  faces  or  figures,  but  one 
can  distinguish  the  colour  of  a  horse,  and  London's  antagonist 
rode  a  sorrel.  Chuck  Morgan  had  said  that  Blakely's  horse 
was  a  sorrel. 

Loudon  sighted  the  dugout  that  was  Pack-saddle  line-camp 
in  a  trifle  less  than  an  hour.  He  saw  with  elation  that  two 
hobbled  ponies  were  grazing  near  by.  A  fresh  mount  would 
quicken  the  return  trip.  London's  elation  collapsed  like  a 
pricked  bubble  when  he  entered  the  dugout  and  found  neither 
of  the  rules. 

He  swore  a  little,  and  smoked  a  sullen  cigarette.  Then  he 
unsaddled  the  weary  Lemons  and  saddled  the  more  vicious  of 
the  two  hobbled  ponies.  Subjugating  this  animal,  a  most 
excellent  pitcher,  worked  off  a  deal  of  London's  ill-temper. 
Even  so,  it  was  in  no  cheerful  frame  of  mind  that  he  rode 
away  to  inspect  the  two  mud-holes  between  Fishtail  Coulee 
and  Box  Hill. 

To  be  beaten  is  not  a  pleasant  state  of  affairs.  Not  only 
had  he  been  beaten,  but  he  had  been  caught  by  the  old  Indian 
fighter's  trick  of  the  empty  hat.  That  was  what  galled 
Loudon.  To  be  lured  into  betraying  his  position  by  such  an 
ancient  snare !  And  he  had  prided  himself  on  being  an  adroit 
fighting  man!  The  fact  that  he  had  come  within  a  finger's 
breadth  of  paying  with  his  life  for  his  mistake  did  not  lesson 
the  smart,  rather  it  aggravated  it. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  he  returned  to  the  line-camp. 
Hockling  and  Red  Kane,  the  two  punchers,  had  not  yet  ridden 
in.  So  Loudon  sliced  bacon  and  set  the  coffee  on  to  boil. 
Half  an  hour  after  sunset  Hockling  and  Kane  galloped  up  and 
fell  upon  Loudon  with  joy.  Neither  relished  the  labour,  insig 
nificant  as  it  was,  of  cooking. 

"Company,"  remarked  Red  Kane,  a  forkful  of  bacon 
poised  in  the  air. 

The  far-away  patter  of  hoofs  swelled  to  a  drumming  cres 
cendo.  Then  inside  the  circle  of  firelight  a  pony  slid  to  a 


32  PARADISE  BEND 

halt,  and  the  voice  of  cheerful  Johnny  Ramsay  bawled  a 
greeting. 

"That's  right,  Tom!"  shouted  the  irrepressible  Johnny. 
"  Always  have  chuck  ready  for  yore  uncle.  He  likes  his  meals 
hot.  This  is  shore  real  gayful.  I  wasn't  expectin'  to  find 
any  folks  here." 

"I  s'pose  not,"  said  Red  Kane.  "You  was  figurin*  on 
romancin'  in  while  we  was  away  an'  stockin'  up  on  our  grub. 
1  know  you.  Hock,  you  better  cache  the  extry  bacon  an' 
dobies.  Don't  let  Johnny  see  'em." 

"Well,  o'  course,"  observed  Ramsay,  superciliously,  "I've 
got  the  appetite  of  youth  an'  a  feller  with  teeth.  I  don't  have 
to  get  my  nourishment  out  of  soup." 

"He  must  mean  you,  Hock,"  said  Red  Kane,  calmly. 
"You've  done  lost  eight." 

"The  rest  of  'em  all  hit,"  asserted  Hockling,  grinning. 
"  But  what  Johnny  wants  with  teeth,  I  dunno.  By  rights  he'd 
ought  to  stick  to  milk.  Meat  ain't  healthy  for  young  ones. 
Ain't  we  got  a  nursin'-bottle  kickin'  round  some'ers,  Red?" 

"Shore,  Red  owns  one,"  drawled  Loudon.  "I  seen  him 
buyin'  one  once  over  to  Farewell  at  Mike  Flynn's." 

"O'  course,"  said  Johnny,  heaping  his  plate  with  bacon  and 
beans.  "  I  remember  now  I  seen  him,  too.  Said  he  was  buy- 
in'  it  for  a  friend.  Why  not  admit  yo're  married,  Red?" 

"  Yuh  know  I  bought  it  for  Mis'  Shaner  o'  the  Three  Bars.'" 
shouted  the  indignant  Kane.  "She  done  asked  me  to  get  it 
for  her.  It  was  for  her  baby  to  drink  out  of." 

"  Yuh  don't  mean  it,"  said  Johnny,  seriously.  " For  a  baby, 
yuh  say.  Well  now,  if  that  ain't  surprisin'.  I  always  thought 
nursin'-bottles  was  to  drive  nails  with." 

In  this  wise  the  meal  progressed  pleasantly  enough. 
After  supper,  when  the  four  were  sprawled  comfortably  on 
their  saddle-blankets,  Loudon  launched  his  bombshell. 

"Had  a  small  brush  this  mornin',"  remarked  Loudon, 
"with  a  gent  over  by  the  mud-hole  north  o'  Box  Hill." 

The  three  others  sat  up,  gaping  expectantly. 

"Djuh  get  him?"  demanded  Johnny  Ramsay,  his  blue  eyes 
glittering  in  the  firelight. 


SHOTS  ON  PACK-SADDLE  S3 

London  shook  his  head.  He  raised  his  left  arm,  revealing 
the  rent  in  his  shirt.  Then  he  removed  his  hat  and  stuck  his 
finger  through  the  hole  in  the  crown. 

"Souvenirs,"  said  Loudon.  "He  busted  the  lever  off  my 
Winchester  an'  gormed  up  the  action." 

"An*  he  got  away?"  queried  Red  Kane. 

"The  last  I  seen  of  him  he  was  workin'  in  behind  where  he 
thought  I  was." 

"Where  was  you?" 

"I  was  watchin'  him  from  the  top  o'  Box  Hill.  What  did 
yuh  think  I'd  be  doin'?  Waitin'  for  him  to  surround  me  an* 
plug  me  full  o'  holes?  I  come  here  some  hurried  after  he 
crossed  the  creek.  I  was  hopin'  you'd  have  left  a  rifle  be 
hind." 

"Wish't  we  had,"  lamented  Hockling.  "Say,  you  was 
lucky  to  pull  out  of  it  without  reapin'  no  lead." 

"  I'll  gamble  you  started  the  fraycas,  Tommy,"  said  Johnny 
Ramsay. 

"Not  this  trip.  I  was  lookin'  at  some  mighty  interestin' 
cow  an'  pony  tracks  opposite  the  rock  ledge  when  this  gent 
cuts  down  on  me  an'  misses  by  two  inches." 

"Tracks?" 

"Yep.  Some  sport  drove  five  cows  on  to  the  ledge  an* 
chased  'em  over  the  creek.  That's  how  they  work  the  trick. 
They  throw  the  cows  across  where  there's  hard  ground  or 
rocks  on  our  side.  'Course  the  rustlers  didn't  count  none  on 
us  nosy  in'  along  the  opposite  bank." 

"Ain't  they  the  pups!"  ejaculated  Hockling. 

"They're  wise  owls,"  commented  Johnny  Ramsay.  "Say, 
Tom,  did  this  shootin*  party  look  anyways  familiar?" 

"The  colour  of  his  hoss  was — some,"  replied  Loudon. 
"Blakely  was  at  the  ranch  last  night,  an'  his  hoss  was  a 
sorrel." 

"*What  did  I  tell  yuh?"  exclaimed  Johnny  Ramsay. 
"What  did  I  tell  yuh?  That  Blakely  tinhorn  is  one  bad  ac 
tor." 

"I  ain't  none  shore  it  was  him.  There's  herds  o'  sorrel 
cay  uses." 


34  PARADISE  BEND 

"Shore  there  are,  but  there's  only  one  Blakely.  Oh,  it 
was  him  all  right." 

"Whoever  it  was,  I'm  goin'  to  wander  over  onto  the  88 
range  to-morrow,  if  Red  or  Hock'll  lend  me  a  Winchester." 

"Take  mine,"  said  Hockling.     "Red's  throws  off  a  little." 

"She  does,"  admitted  Red  Kane,  "but  my  cartridges  don't. 
I'll  give  yuh  a  hull  box." 

Followed  then  much  profane  comment  relative  to  the  88 
ranch  and  the  crass  stupidity  of  Mr.  Saltoun. 

"I  see  yo're  packin'  a  Winchester,"  said  Loudon  to  Johnny 
Ramsay,  when  Hockling  and  Red  had  turned  in. 

"Hunter's  trip,"  explained  Johnny,  his  eyes  twinkling. 
"Jack  Richie's  got  his  own  ideas  about  this  rustlin',  so  he  sent 
me  over  to  scamper  round  the  88  range  an'  see  what  I  could 
see.  I  guess  I'll  travel  with  you  a  spell." 

"Fine!"  said  Loudon.  "Fine.  I  was  wishin'  for  com 
pany.  If  we're  jumped  we'd  ought  to  be  able  to  give  'em  a 
right  pleasant  little  surprise." 

Johnny  Ramsay  rolled  a  cigarette  and  gazed  in  silence  at 
the  dying  fire  for  some  minutes.  Loudon,  his  hands  clasped 
behind  his  head,  stared  upward  at  the  star-dusted  heavens. 
But  he  saw  neither  the  stars  nor  the  soft  blackness.  He  saw 
Kate  and  Blakely,  and  thick-headed  Mr.  Saltoun  bending 
over  his  desk,  and  he  was  wondering  how  it  all  would  end. 

"Say,"  said  Johnny  Ramsay,  suddenly,  "this  here  hold-up 
cut  down  on  yuh  from  behind  a  rock,  didn't  he?" 

"Shore  did,"  replied  Loudon. 

"Which  side  did  he  fire  from?" 

"Why,  the  hind  side." 

"I  ain't  tryin'  to  be  funny.  Was  it  the  left  side  or  the 
right  side?" 

"The  right  side,"  Loudon  replied,  after  a  moment's 
thought. 

"Yore  right  side?" 

"Yep." 

"That  would  make  it  his  left  side.  Did  yuh  ever  stop  to 
think,  Tom,  that  Blakely  shoots  a  Colt  right-handed  an'  a 
Winchester  left-handed?" 


SHOTS  ON  PACK-SADDLE  35 

Loudon  swore  sharply. 

"  Now,  how  did  I  come  to  forget  that ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  O* 
course  he  does." 

"Guess  Mr.  Blakely's  elected,"  said  Johnny  Ramsay. 
"Seems  likely." 

Early  next  morning  Loudon  and  Ramsay  rode  northward 
along  the  bank  of  the  Pack-saddle.  They  visited  first  the 
boulder  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below  the  mud-hole.  Here  they 
found  empty  cartridge  shells,  and  the  marks  of  boot-heels. 

They  forded  the  creek  at  the  ledge  above  the  mud-hole, 
where  the  cows  had  been  driven  across,  and  started  westward. 
They  were  careful  to  ride  the  low  ground  at  first,  but  early 
in  the  afternoon  they  climbed  the  rocky  slope  of  Little  Bear 
Mountain.  From  the  top  they  surveyed  the  surrounding 
country.  They  saw  the  splendid  stretches  of  the  range 
specked  here  and  there  with  dots  that  were  cows,  but  they 
saw  no  riders. 

They  rode  down  the  mountainside  and  turned  into  a  wide 
draw,  where  pines  and  tamaracks  grew  slimly.  At  the  head 
of  the  draw,  where  it  sloped  abruptly  upward,  was  a  brushless 
wood  of  tall  cedars,  and  here,  as  they  rode  in  among  the  trees, 
a  calf  bawled  suddenly. 

They  rode  toward  the  sound  and  came  upon  a  dead  cow. 
At  the  cow's  side  stood  a  lonely  calf.  At  sight  of  the  men 
the  calf  fled  lumberingly.  Ramsay  unstrapped  his  rope  and 
gave  his  horse  the  spur.  Loudon  dismounted  and  examined 
the  dead  cow.  When  Ramsay  returned  with  the  calf,  Lou 
don  was  squatting  on  his  heels,  rolling  a  cigarette. 

"There  y'are,"  observed  Loudon,  waving  his  free  hand 
toward  the  cow.  "There's  evidence  for  yuh.  Ears  slit 
with  the  88  mark,  an'  the  88  brand  over  the  old  Bar  S.  Leg 
broke,  an'  a  hole  in  her  head.  She  ain't  been  dead  more'n  a 
day.  What  do  you  reckon?" 

"That  the  88  are  damn  fools.  Why  didn't  they  skin 
her?" 

"Too  lazy,  I  guess.  That  calf's  branded  an'  earmarked 
all  complete.  Never  was  branded  before,  neither." 


36  PARADISE  BEND 

"Shore.  An*  the  brand's  about  two  days  old.  Just  look 
at  iL  Raw  yet." 

"  Same  date  as  its  ma's.  They  done  some  slick  work  with 
a  wet  blanket  on  that  cow,  but  the  Bar  S  is  plain  underneath. 
Give  the  cow  a  month,  if  she'd  lived,  an'  yuh'd  never  know 
but  what  she  was  born  88." 

"Oh,  they're  slick,  the  pups!"  exclaimed  Johnny  Ramsay. 

"The  Old  Man  ought  to  see  this.  When  Old  Salt  throws 
his  eyes  on  that  brandin'  I'll  gamble  he'll  change  his  views 
some." 

"You  bet  he  will.     Better  start  now." 

"All  right.     Let's  get  a-goinV 

"One's  enough.  You  go,  Tommy.  I'll  stay  an*  caper 
around.  I  might  run  onto  somethin'.  Yuh  can't  tell." 

"  I'd  kind  o'  like  to  have  yuh  here  when  I  get  back." 

"Don't  worry  none.  From  what  I  know  o'  Old  Salt  you 
an'  him  won't  be  here  before  to-morrow  mornin'!  I'll  be 
here  then." 

"All  right.     I'll  slide  instanter.     So  long,  Johnny." 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE     SKINNED     CATTLE 

THIS  is  a  devil  of  a  time  to  haul  a  man  out  o*  bed," 
complained  Mr.  Saltoun,  stuffing  the  tail  of  his  night 
shirt  into  his  trousers.     "C'mon  in   the   office,"  he 
added,  grumpily. 

Mr.  Saltoun,  while  Loudon  talked,  never  took  his  eyes  from 
the  puncher's  face.  Incredulity  and  anger  warred  in  his 
expression. 

"What  do  you  reckon?"  the  owner  inquired  in  a  low  tone, 
when  Loudon  fell  silent. 

"Why,  it's  plain  enough,"  said  Loudon,  impatiently. 
"The  rustlers  were  night-drivin'  them  cows  when  one  of  'em 
busted  her  leg.  So  they  shot  her,  an*  the  calf  got  away  an' 
come  back  after  the  rustlers  had  gone  on.  They  must  'a' 
been  night-drivin',  'cause  if  it  had  been  daytime  they'd  'a* 
rounded  up  the  calf.  Night-drivin'  shows  they  were  in  a 
hurry  to  put  a  heap  o'  range  between  themselves  an'  the  Bar 
S.  They  were  headin'  straight  for  the  Fallin'  Horse  an'  the 
Three  Sisters." 

"I  see  all  that.     I'm  still  askin'  what  do  you  reckon?" 

"Meanin'?" 

"Who-all'sdoin'it?" 

"I  ain't  changed  my  opinion  any.  If  the  rustlers  don't 
ride  for  the  88,  then  they're  related  mighty  close." 

"You  can't  prove  it,"  denied  Mr.  Saltoun. 

"I  know  I  can't.  But  it  stands  to  reason  that  two  or 
three  rustlers  workin'  for  themselves  wouldn't  drift  cows  west 
— right  across  the  88  range.  They'd  drift  'em  north  toward 
Farewell,  or  south  toward  the  Fryin'  Pans.  Findin'  that 
cow  an'  calf  on  the  88  range  is  pretty  near  as  strong  as  findin' 
a  man  ridin'  off  on  yore  hoss." 

37 


38  PARADISE  BEND 

"Pretty  near  ain't  quite." 

"I  ain't  sayin'  anythin'  more." 

"You've  got  a  grudge  against  the  88,  Tom.  Just  because 
a  left-handed  sport  on  a  sorrel  cuts  down  on  yuh  it  don't 
follow  that  Blakely  is  the  sport.  Yuh  hadn't  ought  to  think 
so,  Tom.  Why,  Blakely  stayed  here  the  night  before  yuh 
started  for  Pack-saddle.  He  didn't  leave  till  eight  o'clock 
in  the  mornin',  an'  then  he  headed  for  the  88.  It  ain't  likely 
he'd  slope  over  to  the  creek  an'  shoot  you  up.  Why,  that's 
plumb  foolish,  Tom.  Blakely 's  white,  an'  he's  a  friend  o' 
mine." 

Mr.  Saltoun  gazed  distressedly  at  Loudon.  The  puncher 
stared  straight  before  him,  his  expression  wooden.  He  had 
said  all  that  he  intended  to  say. 

"WTell,  Tom,"  continued  the  owner,  "I  don't  enjoy  losin' 
cows  any  more  than  the  next  feller.  We've  got  to  stop 
this  rustlin'  somehow.  In  the  mornin'  I'll  ride  over 
with  yuh  an'  have  a  look  at  that  cow.  Tell  Chuck  Morgan 
I  want  him  to  come  along.  Now  you  get  some  sleep,  an' 
forget  about  the  88.  They  ain't  in  on  this  deal,  take  my 
word  for  it." 

It  was  a  silent  trio  that  departed  in  the  pale  light  of  the 
new  day.  Chuck  Morgan  endeavoured  to  draw  Loudon 
into  conversation  but  gave  it  up  after  the  first  attempt. 
The  heavy  silence  remained  unbroken  till  they  reached  the 
mouth  of  the  wide  draw  beyond  Little  Bear  Mountain. 

"There's  a  hoss/'  said  Loudon,  suddenly. 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  away  grazed  a  saddled  pony.  Loudon 
galloped  forward. 

The  animal  made  no  attempt  to  escape.  It  stood  quietly 
while  Loudon  rode  up  and  gathered  in  the  reins  dragging  be 
tween  its  feet.  The  full  cantenas  were  in  place.  The  quirt 
hung  on  the  horn.  The  rope  had  not  been  unstrapped.  The 
slicker  was  tied  behind  the  cantle.  Under  the  left  fender 
the  Winchester  was  in  its  scabbard.  All  on  the  saddle  was 
as  it  should  be. 

"Whose  hoss?"  inquired  Mr.  Saltoun,  who  had  followed 
more  slowly. 


THE  SKINNED  CATTLE  39 

"Ramsay's,"  replied  the  laconic  Loudon,  and  started  up 
the  draw  at  a  lope,  leading  the  riderless  pony. 

London's  eyes  searched  the  ground  ahead  and  on  both 
sides.  He  instinctively  felt  that  some  ill  had  befallen  Johnny 
Ramsay.  His  intuition  was  not  at  fault. 

When  the  three  had  ridden  nearly  to  the  head  of  the  draw, 
where  the  trees  grew  thickly,  Loudon  saw,  at  the  base  of  a 
leaning  pine,  the  crumpled  body  of  Johnny  Ramsay. 

Loudon  dropped  from  the  saddle  and  ran  to  his  friend. 
Ramsay  lay  on  his  back,  his  left  arm  across  his  chest,  his 
right  arm  extended,  fingers  gripping  the  butt  of  his  six- 
shooter.  His  face  and  neck  and  left  arm  were  red  with  blood. 
His  appearance  was  sufficiently  ghastly  and  death-like,  but 
his  flesh  was  warm. 

Respiration  was  imperceptible,  however,  and  Loudon  tore 
open  Ramsay's  shirt  and  pressed  his  ear  above  the  heart. 
It  was  beating,  but  the  beat  was  pitifully  slow  and  faint. 

Loudon  set  to  work.  Chuck  Morgan  was  despatched  to 
find  water,  and  Mr.  Saltoun  found  himself  taking  and  obeying 
orders  from  one  of  his  own  cowpunchers. 

An  hour  later  Ramsay,  his  wounds  washed  and  bandaged, 
began  to  mutter,  but  his  words  were  unintelligible.  Within 
half  an  hour  he  was  raving  in  delirium.  Chuck  Morgan  had 
departed,  bound  for  the  Bar  S,  and  Loudon  and  Mr.  Saltoun 
sat  back  on  their  heels  and  watched  their  moaning  patient. 

"It's  a  whipsaw  whether  he'll  pull  through  or  not,"  re 
marked  the  bromidic  Mr.  Saltoun. 

"He's  got  to  pull  through,"  declared  Loudon,  grimly. 
"He  ain't  goin'  to  die.  Don't  think  it  for  a  minute." 

"I  dunno.     He's  got  three  holes  in  him." 

"Two.  Neck  an'  arm,  an'  the  bone  ain't  touched.  That 
graze  on  the  head  ain't  nothin'.  It  looks  bad,  but  it  only 
scraped  the  skin.  His  neck's  the  worst.  A  half  inch  over 
an'  he'd  'a'  bled  to  death.  Yuh  can't  rub  out  Johnny  so  easy. 
There's  a  heap  o'  life  in  him." 

"His  heart's  goin'  better  now,"  said  Mr.  Saltoun. 

Loudon  nodded,  his  gray  eyes  fixed  on  the  bandaged  head 
of  his  friend.  Conversation  languished,  and  Mr.  Saltoun 


40  PARADISE  BEND 

began  to  roll  and  smoke  cigarettes.  After  a  time  Loudon 
rose. 

"He'll  do  till  the  wagon  comes,"  he  said.  "Let's  go  over 
an'  take  a  squint  at  that  cow." 

Loudon  led  Mr.  Saltoun  to  the  spot  where  lay  the  dead  cow. 
When  the  puncher  came  in  sight  of  the  dead  animal  he  halted 
abruptly  and  observed  that  he  would  be  damned. 

Mr.  Saltoun  whistled.  The  cow  had  been  thoroughly 
skinned.  Beside  the  cow  lay  the  calf,  shot  through  the  head. 
And  from  the  little  body  every  vestige  of  hide  had  been 
stripped. 

"I  guess  that  settles  the  cat-hop,"  said  Mr.  Saltoun,  and 
began  comprehensively  to  curse  all  rustlers  and  their  works. 

It  was  not  the  skinning  that  disturbed  Mr.  Saltoun.  It 
was  the  sight  of  his  defunct  property.  The  fact  that 
he  was  losing  cows  had  struck  home  at  last.  Inform 
a  man  that  he  is  losing  property,  and  he  may  or  may  not 
become  concerned,  but  show  him  that  same  property  ren 
dered  valueless,  and  he  will  become  very  much  concerned. 
Ocular  proof  is  a  wonderful  galvanizer.  Yet,  in  the  case  of 
Mr.  Saltoun,  it  was  not  quite  wonderful  enough. 

"Oh,  they're  slick!"  exclaimed  Loudon,  bitterly.  "They 
don't  forget  nothin' !  No  wonder  Blakely 's  a  manager ! " 

Mr.  Saltoun  ceased  swearing  abruptly. 

"  Yo're  wrong,  Tom,"  he  reproved.  "The  88's  got  nothin' 
to  do  with  it.  I  know  they  ain't,  an'  that's  enough.  I'm  the 
loser,  not  you,  an'  I'm  the  one  to  do  the  howlin'.  An'  I  don't 
want  to  hear  any  more  about  the  88  or  Blakely." 

Loudon  turned  his  back  on  Mr.  Saltoun  and  returned  to 
the  wounded  man.  The  cowboy  yearned  to  take  his  em 
ployer  by  the  collar  and  kick  him  into  a  reasonable  frame  of 
mind.  Such  blindness  was  maddening. 

Mr.  Saltoun  heaped  fuel  on  the  fire  of  London's  anger  by 
remarking  that  the  rustlers  undoubtedly  hailed  from  the 
Frying-Pan  Mountains.  Loudon,  writhing  internally,  was 
on  the  point  of  relieving  his  pent-up  feelings  when  his  eye 
glimpsed  a  horseman  on  the  high  ground  above  the  draw. 
The  puncher  reached  for  his  Winchester,  but  he  laid  the  rifle 


THE  SKINNED  CATTLE  41 

down  when  the  rider  changed  direction  and  came  toward 
them. 

"Block,  ain't  it?"  inquired  Mr.  Saltoim. 

Loudon  nodded.  His  eyes  narrowed  to  slits,  his  lips  set 
in  a  straight  line.  The  sheriff  rode  up  and  halted,  his  little 
eyes  shifting  from  side  to  side.  He  spoke  to  Mr.  Saltoun, 
nodded  to  Loudon,  and  then  stared  at  the  wounded  man. 

"Got  a  rustler,  I  see,"  he  observed  dryly,  his  lips  crinkled 
in  a  sneering  smile. 

"Yuh  see  wrong — as  usual,"  said  Loudon.  "Some  friend 
o'  yores  shot  Johnny." 

"Friend  o'  mine?  Who?"  queried  the  sheriff,  his  manner 
one  of  mild  interest. 

"Wish  I  knew.  Thought  yuh  might  be  able  to  tell  me. 
Ain't  that  what  yuh  come  here  for?" 

"Ramsay's  shot — that's  all  we  know,"  interposed  Mr.  Sal 
toun,  hastily.  "An*  there's  a  cow  an'  calf  o'  mine  over  yon 
der.  Skinned,  both  of  'em." 

"An'  the  cow  had  been  branded  through  a  wet  blanket," 
said  Loudon,  not  to  be  fobbed  off.  "The  Bar  S  was  under 
neath  an'  the  88  was  on  top.  Johnny  an'  me  found  the  dead 
cow  an'  the  live  calf  yesterday.  I  left  Johnny  here  an'  rode 
in  to  the  Bar  S.  When  we  got  here  we  found  Johnny  shot 
an'  the  cow  an'  calf  skinned.  What  do  you  guess?" 

"I  don't  guess  nothin',"  replied  the  sheriff.  "But  it 
shore  looks  as  if  rustlers  had  been  mighty  busy." 

"Don't  it?"  said  Loudon  with  huge  sarcasm.  "I  guess, 
now " 

"Say,  look  here,  Sheriff,"  interrupted  Mr.  Saltoun,  anxious 
to  preserve  peace,  "I  ain't  makin'  no  charges  against  any 
body.  But  this  rustlin'  has  got  to  stop.  I  can't  afford  to 
lose  any  more  cows.  Do  somethin'.  Yo're  sheriff." 

"Do  somethin'!"  exclaimed  the  Sheriff.  "Well,  I  like 
that!  What  can  I  do?  I  can't  be  in  forty  places  at  once. 
Yuh  talk  like  I  knowed  just  where  the  rustlers  hang  out." 

"Yuh  probably  do,"  said  Loudon,  eyes  watchful,  his  right 
hand  ready. 

"Keep  out  of  this,  Tom,"  ordered  Mr.  Saltoun,  turning 


42  PARADISE  BEND 

on  Loudon  with  sharp  authority.     "I'll  say  what's  to  be 


"Show  me  the  rustlers,"  said  the  sheriff,  electing  to  disre 
gard  London's  outburst.  "Show  me  the  rustlers,  an*  I'll 
do  the  rest." 

At  which  remark  the  seething  Loudon  could  control  him 
self  no  longer. 

"You'll  do  the  rest!"  he  rapped  out  in  a  harsh  and  grating 

voice.  "I  guess  yuh  will!  If  yuh  was  worth  a yuh'd 

get  'em  without  bein'  shown!  How  much  do  they  pay  yuh 
for  leavin'  'em  alone?" 

The  sheriff  did  not  remove  his  hands  from  the  saddle-horn. 
For  Loudon  had  jerked  out  his  six-shooter,  and  the  long 
barrel  was  in  line  with  the  third  button  of  the  officer's  shirt. 

"Yuh  got  the  drop,"  grunted  the  sheriff,  his  little  eyes 
venomous,  "an'  I  ain't  goin'  up  agin  a  sure  thing." 

"  You  can  gamble  yuh  ain't.  I'd  shore  admire  to  blow  yuh 
apart.  You  git,  an'  git  now." 

The  sheriff  hesitated.  London's  finger  dragged  on  the 
trigger.  Slowly  the  sheriff  picked  up  his  reins,  wheeled  his 
horse,  and  loped  away. 

"What  did  yuh  do  that  for?"  demanded  Mr.  Saltoun, 
disturbed  and  angry. 

Loudon,  his  eye-corners  puckered,  stared  at  the  owner  of 
the  Bar  S.  The  cowboy's  gaze  was  curious,  speculative,  and 
it  greatly  lacked  respect.  Instead  of  replying  to  Mr.  Sal- 
toun's  question,  Loudon  sheathed  his  six-shooter,  squatted 
down  on  his  heels  and  began  to  roll  a  cigarette. 

"I  asked  yuh  what  yuh  did  that  for?"  reiterated  blunder 
ing  Mr.  Saltoun. 

Again  Loudon  favoured  his  employer  with  that  curious  and 
speculative  stare. 

"I'll  tell  yuh,"  Loudon  said,  gently.  "I  talked  to  Block 
because  it's  about  time  someone  did.  He's  in  with  the 
rustlers — Blakely  an'  that  bunch.  If  you  wasn't  blinder 'n 
a  flock  of  bats  you'd  see  it,  too." 

"You  can't  talk  to  me  this  way!"  cried  the  furious  Mr. 
Saltoun. 


THE  SKINNED  CATTLE  43 

"I'm  doin'  it,"  observed  Loudon,  placidly. 

"Yo're  fired!" 

"Not  by  a  jugful  I  ain't.     I  quit  ten  minutes  ago." 

"You "  began  Mr.  Saltoun. 

"Don't,"  advised  Loudon,  his  lips  parting  in  a  mirthless 
smile. 

Mr.  Saltoun  didn't.  He  withdrew  to  a  little  distance  and 
sat  down.  After  a  time  he  took  out  his  pocket-knife  and  be 
gan  to  play  mumblety-peg.  Mr.  Saltoun 's  emotions  had 
been  violently  churned.  He  required  time  to  readjust  him 
self.  But  with  his  customary  stubbornness  he  held  to  the 
belief  that  Blakely  and  the  88  were  innocent  of  evil-doing. 

Until  Chuck  Morgan  and  the  wagon  arrived  early  in  the 
morning,  Loudon  and  his  former  employer  did  not  exchange 
a  word. 


CHAPTER  V 

THEIR     OWN     DECEIVINGS 

JOHNNY  RAMSAY  was  put  to  bed  in  the  Bar  S  ranch 
house.  Kate  Saltoun  promptly  installed  herself  as 
nurse.  Loudon,  paid  off  by  the  now  regretful  Mr.  Sal 
toun,  took  six  hours*  sleep  and  then  rode  away  on  Ranger  to 
notify  the  Cross-in-a-box  of  Ramsay's  wounding. 

An  angry  man  was  Richie,  manager  of  the  Cross-in-a-box, 
when  he  heard  what  Loudon  had  to  say. 

The  following  day  Loudon  and  Richie  rode  to  the  Bar  S. 
On  London's  mentioning  that  he  was  riding  no  longer  for  the 
Bar  S,  Richie  immediately  hired  him.  He  knew  a  good  man, 
did  Jack  Richie  of  the  Cross-in-a-box. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  Bar  S  they  found  Johnny  Ramsay 
conscious,  but  very  weak.  His  weakness  was  not  surprising. 
He  had  lost  a  great  deal  of  blood.  He  grinned  wanly  at 
Loudon  and  Richie. 

"You  mustn't  stay  long,"  announced  Miss  Saltoun,  firmly, 
smoothing  the  bed-covering. 

"We  won't,  ma'am,"  said  Richie.  "Who  shot  yuh, 
Johnny?" 

"I  dunno,"  replied  the  patient.  "I  was  just  a-climbin' 
aboard  my  hoss  when  I  heard  a  shot  behind  me  an'  I  felt  a 
pain  in  my  neck.  I  pulled  my  six-shooter  an*  whirled,  an*  I 
got  in  one  shot  at  a  gent  on  a  hoss.  He  fired  before  I  did,  an' 
it  seems  to  me  there  was  another  shot  off  to  the  left.  Anyway, 
the  lead  got  me  on  the  side  of  the  head  an'  that's  all  I  know." 

"Who  was  the  gent  on  the  hoes?"  Loudon  asked. 

"I  dunno,  Tom.  I  hadn't  more'n  whirled  when  he  fired, 
an'  the  smoke  hid  his  face.  It  all  come  so  quick.  I  fired 
blind.  Yuh  see  the  chunk  in  my  neck  kind  o*  dizzied  me,  an* 
that  rap  on  the  head  comin'  on  top  of  it,  why,  I  wouldn't  'a' 

44 


THEIR  OWN  DECEIVINGS  45 

knowed  my  own  brother  ten  feet  away.  I'm  all  right  now. 
In  a  couple  o'  weeks  I'll  be  ridin'  the  range  again." 

"Shore  yuh  will,"  said  London.  "An*  the  sooner  the 
quicker.  You've  got  a  good  nurse." 

"I  shore  have,"  smiled  Johnny,  gazing  with  adoring  eyes 
at  Kate  Saltoun. 

"That  will  be  about  all,"  remarked  Miss  Saltoun.  "He's 
talked  enough  for  one  day.  Get  out  now,  the  both  of  you, 
and  don't  fall  over  anything  and  make  a  noise.  I'm  not 
going  to  have  my  patient  disturbed." 

London  went  down  to  the  bunkhouse  for  his  dinner.  After 
the  meal,  while  waiting  for  Richie,  who  was  lingering  with 
Mr.  Saltoun,  he  strove  to  obtain  a  word  with  Kate.  But  she 
informed  him  that  she  could  not  leave  her  patient. 

"See  you  later,"  said  Miss  Saltoun.  "You  mustn't  bother 
me  now." 

And  she  shooed  him  out  and  closed  the  door.  Loudon  re 
turned  to  the  bunkhouse  and  sat  down  on  the  bench  near 
the  kitchen.  Soon  Jimmy  appeared  with  a  pan  of  potatoes 
and  waxed  loquacious  as  was  his  habit. 

"Who  plugged  Johnny?  That's  what  I'd  like  to  know," 
wondered  Jimmy.  "Here!  leave  them  Hogans  be!  They're 
to  eat,  not  to  jerk  at  the  windmill.  I  never  seen  such  a  kid 
as  you.  Yo're  worse  than  Chuck  Morgan,  an'  he's  just  a 
natural-born  fool.  Oh,  all  right.  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  talk  to 
yuh  if  yuh  can't  act  decent." 

Jimmy  picked  up  his  pan  of  potatoes  and  withdrew  with 
dignity.  The  grin  faded  from  London's  mouth,  and  he  gazed 
worriedly  at  the  ground  between  his  feet. 

What  would  Kate  say  to  him?  Would  she  be  willing  to 
wait?  She  had  certainly  encouraged  him,  but Pre 
monitory  and  unpleasant  shivers  crawled  up  and  down  Lou- 
don's  spinal  column.  Proposing  was  a  strange  and  novel 
business  with  him.  He  had  never  done  such  a  thing  before. 
He  felt  as  one  feels  who  is  about  to  step  forth  into  the  un 
known.  For  he  was  earnestly  and  honestly  very  much  in 
love.  It  is  only  your  philanderer  who  enters  upon  a  proposal 
with  cold  judgment  and  a  calm  heart. 


46  PARADISE  BEND 

Half  an  hour  later  Loudon  saw  Kate  at  the  kitchen  window. 
He  was  up  in  an  instant  and  hurrying  toward  the  kitchen  door. 
Kate  was  busy  at  the  stove  when  he  entered.  Over  her 
shoulder  she  flung  him  a  charming  smile,  stirred  the  contents 
of  a  saucepan  a  moment  longer,  then  clicked  on  the  cover  and 
faced  him. 

"Kate,"  said  Loudon,  "I'm  quittin'  the  Bar  S." 

"Quitting?  Oh,  why?"  Miss  Salt oun's  tone  was  sweetly 
regretful. 

"Lot  o*  reasons.     I'm  ridin'  for  the  Cross-in-a-box  now." 

He  took  a  step  forward  and  seized  her  hand.  It  lay  in  his, 
limp,  unresponsive.  Of  which  lack  of  sympathetic  warmth  he 
was  too  absorbed  to  be  conscious. 

"Kate,"  he  pursued,  "I  ain't  got  nothin'  now  but  my  forty 
a  month.  But  I  shore  love  yuh  a  lot.  Will  yuh  wait  for  me 
till  I  make  enough  for  the  two  of  us?  Look  at  me,  Kate. 
I  won't  always  be  a  punch.  I'll  make  money,  an'  if  I  know 
yo're  a-waitin'  for  me,  I'll  make  it  all  the  faster." 

According  to  recognized  precedent  Kate  should  have  fallen 
into  his  arms.  But  she  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  She  dis 
engaged  her  fingers  and  drew  back  a  step,  ingenuous  surprise 
written  large  on  her  countenance.  Pure  art,  of  course,  and 
she  did  it  remarkably  well. 

"Why,  Tom,"  she  breathed,  "I  wasn't  expecting  this.  I 
didn't  dream,  I " 

"That's  all  right,"  Loudon  broke  in.  "I'm  tellin'  yuh 
I  love  yuh,  honey.  Will  yuh  wait  for  me?  Yuh  don't  have 
to  say  yuh  love  me.  I'll  take  a  chance  on  yore  lovin'  me 
later.  Just  say  yuhll  wait,  will  yuh,  honey?" 

"Oh,  Tom,  I  can't  !n 

"Yuh  can't!  Why  not?  Don't  love  anybody  else,  do 
yuh?" 

"Oh,  I  can't,  Tom,"  evaded  Kate.  "I  don't  think  I  could 
ever  love  you.  I  like  you — oh,  a  great  deal.  You're  a  dear 
boy,  Tommy,  but — you  can't  make  yourself  love  any  one. " 

"  Yuh  won't  have  to  make  yoreself .  I'll  make  yuh  love  me. 
Just  give  me  a  chance,  honey.  That's  all  I  want.  I'd  be 
good  to  yuh,  Kate,  an'  I'd  spend  my  time  tryin'  to  make  yuh 


THEIR  OWN  DECEIVINGS  47 

happy.  We'd  get  along.  I  know  we  would.  Say  yes. 
Give  me  a  chance." 

Kate  returned  to  the  table  and  leaned  against  it,  arms  at 
her  sides,  her  hands  gripping  the  table-edge.  It  was  a  pose 
calculated  to  display  her  figure  to  advantage.  She  had  prac 
tised  it  frequently.  Kate  Saltoun  was  running  true  to  form. 

"Tom,"  she  said,  her  voice  low  and  appealing,  "Tom,  I 
never  had  any  idea  you  loved  me.  And  I'm  awfully  sorry 
I  can't  love  you.  Truly,  I  am.  But  we  can  be  friends,  can't 
we?" 

"Friends!    Friends!"    The  words  were  like  a  curse. 

"Why  not?" 

Loudon,  head  lowered,  looked  at  her  under  his  eyebrows. 

"Then  it  all  didn't  mean  nothin'?"  He  spoke  with  an 
effort. 

"All?    All  what?     What  do  you  mean?" 

"Yuh  know  what  I  mean.  You've  been  awful  nice  to  me. 
Yuh  always  acted  like  yuh  enjoyed  havin'  me  around.  An'  I 
thought  yuh  liked  me — a  little.  An'  it  didn't  mean  nothin' 
'cept  we  can  be  friends.  Friends!" 

Again  the  word  sounded  like  a  curse.  Loudon  turned  his 
head  and  stared  unseeingly  out  of  the  window.  He  raised  his 
hand  and  pushed  his  hair  back  from  his  forehead.  A  great 
misery  was  in  his  heart.  Kate,  for  once  in  her  life  swayed  by 
honest  impulse,  stepped  forward  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Don't  take  it  so  hard,  Tom,"  she  begged. 

Loudon's  eyes  slid  around  and  gazed  down  into  her  face. 
Kate  was  a  remarkably  handsome  girl,  but  she  had  never 
appeared  so  alluring  as  she  did  at  that  moment. 

Loudon  stared  at  the  vivid  dark  eyes,  the  parted  lips,  and 
the  tilted  chin.  Her  warm  breath  fanned  his  neck.  The 
moment  was  tense,  fraught  with  possibilities,  and — Kate 
smiled.  Even  a  bloodless  cucumber  would  have  been  pro 
voked.  And  Loudon  was  far  from  being  a  cucumber. 

His  long  arms  swept  out  and  about  her  body,  and  he 
crushed  her  gasping  against  his  chest.  Once,  twice,  three 
times  he  kissed  her  mouth,  then,  his  grasp  relaxing,  she 
wrenched  herself  free  and  staggered  back  against  the  table. 


48  PARADISE  BEND 

Panting,  hands  clenched  at  her  throat,  she  faced  him.  Lou- 
don  stood  swaying,  his  great  frame  trembling. 

"Kate!  Oh,  Kate!"  he  cried,  and  stretched  out  his  arms. 

But  Kate  groped  her  dazed  way  around  the  table.  Physi 
cally  and  mentally,  she  had  been  severely  shocked.  To  meet 
a  tornado  where  one  had  expected  a  summer  breeze  is  rather 
shattering  to  one's  poise.  Quite  so.  Kate  suffered.  Then, 
out  of  the  chaos  of  her  emotions,  erupted  wild  anger. 

"You!  You!"  she  hissed.  "How  dare  you  kiss  me! 
Ugh-h!  I  could  kill  you!" 

She  drew  the  back  of  her  hand  across  her  mouth  and 
snapped  her  hand  downward  with  precisely  the  same  snap 
and  jerk  that  a  Mexican  bartender  employs  when  he  flips 
the  pulque  from  his  fingers. 

"Do  you  know  I'm  engaged  to  Sam  Blakely?  What  do 
you  think  he'll  do  when  he  finds  this  out?  Do  you  under 
stand?  I'm  going  to  marry  Sam  Blakely!" 

This  facer  cooled  Loudon  as  nothing  else  could  have  done. 
Outwardly,  at  least,  he  became  calm. 

"I  didn't  understand,  but  I  do  now,"  he  said,  stooping  to 
recover  his  hat.  "If  you'd  told  me  that  in  the  first  place  it 
would  have  saved  trouble." 

"You'd  have  been  afraid  to  kiss  me  then!"  she  taunted. 

"Not  afraid,"  he  corrected,  gently.  " I  wouldn't  'a*  wanted 
to.  I  ain't  kissin'  another  man's  girl." 

"  No,  I  guess  not !  The  nerve  of  you !  Think  I'd  marry  an 
ignorant  puncher!" 

"  Yuh  shore  ain't  goin*  to  marry  this  one,  but  yuh  are  goin' 
to  marry  a  cow  thief!" 

"A— a  what?" 

"A  cow  thief,  a  rustler,  a  sport  who  ain't  particular  whose 
cows  he  brands." 

"You  lie!" 

"  Yuh'll  find  out  in  time  I'm  tellm'  the  truth.  I  guess  now 
I  know  more  about  Sam  Blakely  than  you  do,  an'  I  tell  yuh 
he's  a  rustler." 

"Kate!    Oh,  Kate!"  called  a  voice  outside. 

Kate  sped  through  the  doorway.     Loudoa,  his  lips  set  in  a 


THEIR  OWN  DECEIVINGS  49 

straight  line,  followed  her  quickly.  There,  not  five  yards 
from  the  kitchen  door,  Sam  Blakely  sat  his  horse.  The  eyes 
of  the  88  manager  went  from  Kate  to  Loudon  and  back  to 
Kate. 

"What's  the  excitement?"  inquired  Blakely,  easily. 

Kate  levelled  her  forefinger  at  Loudon. 

"He  says,"  she  gulped,  "he  says  you're  a  rustler." 

Blakely's  hand  swept  downward.  His  six-shooter  had 
barely  cleared  the  edge  of  the  holster  when  London's  gun 
flashed  from  the  hip,  and  Blakely's  weapon  spun  through 
the  air  and  fell  ten  feet  distant. 

With  a  grunt  of  pain,  Blakely,  using  his  left  hand,  whipped 
a  derringer  from  under  his  vest. 

Again  Loudon  fired. 

Blakely  reeled,  the  derringer  spat  harmlessly  upward,  and 
then  Blakely,  as  his  frightened  horse  reared  and  plunged, 
pitched  backward  out  of  the  saddle  and  dropped  heavily  to 
the  ground.  Immediately  the  horse  ran  away. 

Kate,  with  a  sharp  cry,  flung  herself  at  the  prostrate 
Blakely. 

"You've  killed  him!"  she  wailed.  " Sam— Sam— speak 
to  me!" 

But  Sam  was  past  speech.  He  had  struck  head  first  and 
was  consequently  senseless. 

Come  running  then  Jimmy  from  the  bunkhouse,  Chuck 
Morgan  from  the  corrals,  Mr.  Saltoun  and  Richie  from  the 
office. 

"He's  dead!  He's  dead!"  was  the  burden  of  Kate's  shrill 
cries. 

"Let's  see  if  he  is,"  said  the  practical  Richie,  dropping  on 
his  knees  at  Blakely's  side.  "He  didn't  tumble  like  a  dead 
man.  Just  a  shake,  ma'am,  while  I  look  at  him.  I  can't  see 
nothin'  with  you  a-layin'  all  over  him  this-a-way.  Yo're 
gettin'  all  over  blood,  too.  There,  now!  She's  done  fainted. 
That's  right,  Salt.  You  take  care  of  her." 

The  capable  Richie  made  a  rapid  examination.  He  looked 
up,  hands  on  knees,  his  white  teeth  gleaming  under  his  brown 
moustache. 


50  PARADISE  BEND 

"He's  all  right,"  he  said,  cheerfully.  "Heart's  a-tickin' 
like  a  alarm-clock.  Hole  in  his  shoulder.  Missed  the  bones. 
Bullet  went  right  on  through." 

At  this  juncture  Kate  recovered  consciousness  and  struggled 
upright  in  her  father's  arms. 

"He  shot  first!"  she  cried,  pointing  at  Loudon.  "He 
didn't  give  him  a  chance!" 

"You'll  excuse  me,  ma'am,"  said  Richie,  his  tone  good- 
humoured,  but  his  eyes  narrowing  ever  so  slightly.  "You'll 
excuse  me  for  contradictin'  yuh,  but  I  happened  to  be  lookin' 
through  the  office  window  an'  I  seen  the  whole  thing.  Sam 
went  after  his  gun  before  Tom  made  a  move." 

Blakely  moved  feebly,  groaned,  and  opened  his  eyes.  His 
gaze  fell  on  Loudon,  and  his  eyes  turned  venomous. 

"You  got  me,"  he  gritted,  his  lips  drawn  back,  "but  I'll 
get  you  when  Marvin  and  Rudd  ride  in.  They've  got  the 
proof  with  'em,  you  rustler!" 

After  which  cryptic  utterance  Blakely  closed  his  mouth 
tightly  and  contented  himself  with  glaring.  Richie  the  un 
concerned  rose  to  his  feet  and  dusted  his  knees. 

"Take  his  legs,  Chuck,"  directed  Richie.  " Gimme  a  hand, 
will  yuh,  Jimmy?  Easy  now.  That's  it.  Where'll  we  put 
him,  Salt?" 

Mr.  Saltoun  and  his  now  sobbing  daughter  followed  them 
into  the  ranch  house.  Loudon  remained  where  he  was. 
When  the  others  had  disappeared  Loudon  clicked  out  the 
cylinder  of  his  six-shooter,  ejected  the  two  spent  shells  and 
slipped  in  fresh  cartridges. 

"When  Marvin  an'  Rudd  ride  in,"  he  wondered.  "Got 
the  proof  with  'em  too,  huh.  It  looks  as  if  Blakely  was  goin* 
to  a  lot  o'  trouble  on  my  account." 

Loudon  walked  swiftly  behind  the  bunkhouse  and  passed 
on  to  the  corrals.  From  the  top  of  the  corral  fence  he  in 
tended  watching  for  the  coming  of  Marvin  and  Rudd.  In 
this  business  he  was  somewhat  delayed  by  the  discovery  of 
Blakely 's  horse  whickering  at  the  gate  of  the  corral. 

"I  ain't  got  nothin'  against  you,"  said  Loudon,  "but  yuh 
shore  have  queer  taste  in  owners." 


THEIR  OWN  DECEIVINGS  51 

Forthwith  he  stripped  off  saddle  and  bridle  and  turned  the 
animal  into  the  corral.  As  he  closed  the  gate  his  glance  fell 
on  the  dropped  saddle.  The  coiled  rope  had  fallen  away  from 
the  horn,  and  there  was  revealed  in  the  swell-fork  a  neat 
round  hole.  He  squatted  down  more  closely  at  the  neat  hole. 

"That  happened  lately,"  he  said,  fingering  the  edges  of  the 
hole.  "I  thought  so,"  he  added,  as  an  inserted  little  finger 
encountered  a  smooth,  slightly  concave  surface. 

He  took  out  his  knife  and  dug  industriously.  After  three, 
minutes'  work  a  somewhat  mushroomed  forty-five-calibre 
bullet  lay  in  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

"O'  course  Johnny  Ramsay  ain't  the  only  sport  packin*  a 
forty-five,"  he  said,  softly.  "But  Johnny  did  mention  firin' 
one  shot  at  a  party  on  a  hoss.  It's  possible  he  hit  the  swell- 
fork.  Yep,  it's  a  heap  possible." 

Then  Loudon  dropped  the  bullet  into  a  pocket  of  his  chaps 
and  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  corral  fence. 

A  mile  distant,  on  the  slope  of  a  swell,  two  men  were  riding 
toward  the  ranch  house.  The  horsemen  were  driving  before 
them  a  cow  and  a  calf.  Loudon  climbed  down  and  took  posi 
tion  behind  the  mule  corral.  From  this  vantage-point  he 
could  observe  unseen  all  that  might  develop. 

The  riders,  Marvin,  the  88  range  boss,  and  Rudd,  a  puncher, 
passed  within  forty  feet  of  the  mule  corral.  The  cow  and  the 
calf  walked  heavily,  as  if  they  had  been  driven  a  long  distance, 
and  Loudon  perceived  that  they  had  been  newly  branded 
8x8.  The  brand  was  not  one  that  he  recognized. 

"Crossed  Dumbbell  or  Eight  times  Eight."  he  grinned. 
"Take  yore  choice.  I  wonder  if  that  brand's  the  proof 
Blakely  was  talkin'  about.  Marvin  an'  Rudd  shore  do  look 
serious." 

He  cautiously  edged  round  the  corral  and  halted  behind  the 
corner  of  the  bunkhouse.  Marvin  and  Rudd  were  holding 
the  cow  and  calf  near  the  ranch  house  door.  The  two  men 
lounged  in  their  saddles.  Marvin  rolled  a  cigarette.  Then 
in  the  doorway  appeared  Mr.  Saltoun. 

"Howdy,  Mr.  Saltoun,"  said  Marvin.     "Sam  got  in  yet?'* 


52  PARADISE  BEND 

"He's  in  there,"  replied  Mr.  Saltoun,  jerking  a  thumb  over 
his  shoulder.  "He's  shot." 

"Who  done  it?" 

"Tom  Loudon.-" 

"Where  is  he?" 

"Throw  up  yore  hands!"  rapped  out  the  gentleman  in 
question. 

Loudon  had  approached  unobserved  and  was  standing  some 
twenty  feet  in  the  rear  of  Marvin  and  Rudd.  At  London's 
sharp  command  Rudd's  hands  shot  skyward  instantly. 

"I'm  waitin',"  cautioned  Loudon. 

Marvin's  fingers  slowly  uncoiled  from  the  butt  of  his  six- 
shooter  and  draggingly  he  followed  his  comrade's  example. 

"Now  we  can  all  be  happy,"  remarked  Loudon,  nodding 
amiably  to  the  perturbed  Mr.  Saltoun.  "  I  won't  shoot  unless 
they  shove  me.  They  can  talk  just  as  comfortable  with 
their  hands  up,  an'  it'll  be  a  lot  safer  all  round.  Was  the 
state  o*  Sam's  health  all  yuh  wanted  to  know,  Marvin?  No, 
don't  either  of  yuh  turn  'round.  Just  keep  yore  eyes  clamped 
on  the  windmill.  About  Sam,  now,  Marvin.  Richie  says 
he'll  pull  through.  Anythin'  else?" 

"You  bet  there  is!"  exploded  the  furious  range-boss. 

"You rustler,  you  branded  a  cow  an'  a  calf  o'  ours 

yest'day!" 

"Shore,"  agreed  Loudon,  politely,  "an'  I  held  up  the  Fare 
well  stage,  stole  thirty-eight  horses,  an*  robbed  the  Marysville 
bank  the  day  before.  Yuh  don't  want  to  forget  all  them  little 
details,  Marvin.  It's  a  shore  sign  yo're  gettin'  aged  when  yuh 
do.  Well,  well,  a  cow  an'  a  calf  yuh  say.  Only  the  two,  huh? 
It  don't  look  natural  somehow.  I  never  brand  less'n  twenty- 
four  at  a  clip." 

Over  the  shoulders  of  the  agitated  Mr.  Saltoun  peered  the 
faces  of  avidly  interested  Richie,  Chuck  Morgan,  and  Jimmy 
the  cook.  None  of  these  three  allowed  a  sign  of  his  true 
feeling  to  appear  on  his  face. 

The  two  88  men  were  red  with  shame  and  anger.  Their 
lips  moved  with  wicked  words.  Arms  stretched  heavenward, 
their  gaze  religiously  fixed  on  the  windmill,  they  presented  a 


THEIR  OWN  DECEIVINGS  53 

ridiculous  appearance,  and  they  knew  it.  Loudon,  the 
dominant  figure  in  the  scene,  spread  his  legs  and  smiled  sar 
donically. 

*\Go  on,  Marvin,"  he  said,  after  a  moment,  "yo're  cussin'  a 
lot,  but  yuh  ain't  sayin'  nothin*.  Let's  hear  the  rest  o'  that 
interestin'  story  o*  the  88  cow  an*  her  little  daughter." 

"You  branded  the  both  of  'em,"  stubbornly  reiterated 
Marvin.  "We  seen  yuh — Sam,  Rudd  here,  an  'me,  we  seen 
yuh." 

"Yuh  seen  me!"  exclaimed  Loudon.  "Yuh  seen  me! 
You  was  close  enough  to  see  me,  an'  yuh  didn't  try  to  stop 
me!  Well,  you  shore  are  the  poorest  liar  in  the  territory." 

"If  I  had  my  hands  down  yuh  wouldn't  call  me  that!" 

"If  yuh  had  yore  hands  down  yuh'd  be  dead.  I'm  tryin* 
to  save  yore  life.  C'mon,  speak  the  rest  o'  yore  little  piece. 
Yuh  got  as  far  as  the  brandin'.  When  did  it  all  happen?" 

"Gents,"  said  Marvin,  "this  sport  is  a  rustler.  There 
ain't  no  two  ways  about  it,  Day  before  yest'day,  just  before 
sundown,  over  near  the  Sink,  the  three  of  us  seen  Loudon 
workin'  round  a  hog-tied  cow  an'  calf.  WTe  was  three,  maybe 
four  miles  away.  We  seen  him  through  field  glasses.  We 
hit  the  ground  for  the  Sink,  but  when  we  got  there  all  we 
found  was  the  cow  an'  calf,  branded  as  yuh  see  'em  now. 
Loudon  had  sloped." 

"Near  the  Sink,"  observed  Loudon.  "In  the  middle  of 
it?" 

"I've  quit  talkin',"  replied  Marvin. 

Richie  stepped  past  Mr.  Saltoun  and  stood  in  front  of 
Marvin  and  Rudd. 

"You've  done  made  a  right  serious  charge  agin  one  o'  my 
men,"  remarked  Richie,  addressing  Marvin.  "If  he  did 
brand  them  cattle,  he'll  be  stretched.  But  it  ain't  all  clear 
to  me  yet.  This  here  Crossed  Dumbbell  brand  now — see  it 
on  any  other  cattle  besides  these  two,  Marvin?" 

"No,"  said  Marvin,  shaking  his  head. 

"Well,"  continued  Richie,  "why  didn't  yuh  come  here 
right  off  instead  o'  waitin'  two  days?" 

"We  was  busy." 


54  PARADISE  BEND 

"Didn't  go  back  to  the  88  ranch  house  before  comin'  here, 
did  yuh?" 

"No." 

"Or  stop  at  any  o'  yore  line-camps?" 

"No,  we  didn't.     We  come  here  soon  as  we  could  make  it." 

"What  part  o'  the  Sink  was  London  workin'  in?" 

"The  north  side." 

"Near  the  edge,  o'  course?" 

"No,  he  was  nearer  the  middle." 

"Nearer  the  middle,  was  he?  An'  yuh  seen  him  at  a  dis 
tance  o'  three  or  four  miles.  Yuh  must  have  good  eyesight, 
because  if  you  seen  Loudon  workin'  in  the  middle  o'  the 
Sink  an'  you  was  standin'  where  yuh  say  yuh  was,  yuh 
looked  through  about  two  miles  an'  a  half  o'  solid  earth. 
The  middle  o'  the  Sink  is  two  hundred  feet  below  the  level 
o'  the  surrounding  country,  an'  there  ain't  no  high  land  any 
where  near  it.  Unless  yo're  standin'  right  on  the  edge  yuh 
can't  see  no  thin'  in  the  bottom,  an'  the  Sink  is  only  about  a 
mile  from  rim  to  rim.  I  guess  now  yo're  mistaken,  Marvin." 

"I  ain't  none  shore  he  was  plumb  in  the  middle,"  grudg 
ingly  admitted  Marvin.  "Maybe  he  was  kind  o'  near  the 
north  rim.  But  what's  the  difference?"  he  added,  brazenly. 
"We  seen  him." 

"Where  are  the  field  glasses?"  astutely  questioned  Richie. 

"Left  'em  at  our  Lazy  River  line-camp,"  promptly  replied 
Marvin. 

"Now  ain't  that  funny,  Marvin.  Yuh  told  me  not  three 
minutes  ago  yuh  didn't  stop  at  any  o'  yore  line-camps." 

"I  mean  we — I  gave  'em  to  Shorty  Simms.  He's  at  the 
Lazy  River  line-camp,  an'  he  took  'em  there." 

"Why  did  yuh  give  'em  to  Shorty?"  persisted  Richie. 

"Look  here,  Richie!"  blazed  Marvin,  "this  ain't  no  court, 
an'  I  don't  have  to  answer  yore  questions." 

"Yuh '11  have  to  answer  plenty  of  questions,"  retorted 
Richie,  "before  I'll  see  Loudon  stretched." 

"I  tell  yuh  he's  a  rustler!"  shouted  the  mulish  Marvin. 
"He's  startin'  a  herd  o'  his  own,  an'  he's  usin'  the  Dumbbell 
brand.  We  seen  him  brandin'  that  stock!  That's  enough 


THEIR  OWN  DECEIVINGS  55 

for  you  or  any  one  else  to  know,  an'  I  tell  yuh  flat  the  88  is 
out  to  stretch  Tom  Loudon  the  first  chance  it  gets!" 

"Well,  o'  course,  you  know  best,"  said  Richie,  "but  I 
wouldn't  do  nothin'  rash,  Marvin.  I  just  wouldn't  go  off  at 
half-cock  if  I  was  you." 

"No,"  chipped  in  Loudon,  briskly."  I  wouldn't  set  my 
"heart  on  it,  Marvin,  old  hoss.  I  ain't  countin'  none  on  dyin' 
yet  awhile.  I've  got  a  heap  o'  little  matters  to  attend  to 
before  I  cash,  an'  yuh  can  see  how  hangin'  me  would  dis 
arrange  all  my  plans.  Take  yore  decorated  cow  an'  calf 
now  an'  pull  yore  freight,  an'  don't  look  back." 

When  Marvin  and  Rudd  were  gone  Richie  hooked  his 
thumb  in  his  belt  and  looked  with  twinkling  eyes  at  Loudon 
and  the  men  in  the  doorway. 

"I  guess  that  settles  the  cat-hop,"  said  Jack  Richie. 


CHAPTER    VI 

PESTILENT      FELLOWS 

BEFORE  his  departure  Loudon  visited  Blakely. 
"Found    a    bullet-hole    in    yore    saddle,"    said 
Loudon  without  preliminary.     "Kind  o'  looks  as  if 
Johnny  come  near  bustin'  yore  mainspring.     I  ain't  told 
Johnny — yet.     Johnny  bein'  an   impulsive  sport  he  might 
ventilate   yuh  plenty   first   time   he   met   yuh.     Johnny's 
square.     He  ain't  shootin'  anybody  unless  he's  pretty  near 
certain  the  other  party  is  a-layin'  for  him,  an'  that  bullet 
I  dug  out  o'  yore  swell-fork  shore  makes  it  look  bad  for 
yuh. 

"Yuh  needn't  look  so  sour.  I  got  good  news  for  yuh. 
Yo're  goin'  to  marry  Kate,  Well  an'  good.  I  wouldn't  en 
joy  downin'  her  husband  unless  I'm  crowded.  I  could  'a* 
killed  yuh  a  while  back,  an'  I  shot  wide  on  purpose.  Next 
time — but  don't  let  there  be  any  next  time.  Just  you  keep 
away  from  me  an'  Johnny.  I'm  leavin*  the  Lazy  River 
country  anyway,  but  I  tell  yuh,  Sam  Blakely,  if  Johnny 
Ramsay  is  bushwhacked  by  the  88  I'll  come  back  an*  get  yuh 
first  card  out  o'  the  box.  Kate's  husband  or  not  yuh'll  go 
shoutin'  home.  Understand?" 

"  So  yo're  leavin'  this  country,"  bristled  Blakely.  "  Yuh'd 
better.  I'll  shoot  yuh  on  sight!" 

"Shore  yuh  feel  that  way  about  it?"  queried  Loudon  with 
suspicious  gentleness. 

"I  say  what  I  mean  as  a  rule.  I'll  shoot  yuh  on  sight  you 
rustler." 

"All  right.  Because  o'  Kate  I  was  willin'  to  keep  paws  off, 
but  if  yo're  a-honin'  to  play  the  hand  out,  I'll  give  yuh  every 
chance.  You've  got  to  get  well  complete  first.  Take  three 
months.  That  ought  to  be  time  enough.  Three  months 

56 


PESTILENT  FELLOWS  67 

from  to-day  I'll  ride  in  to  Farewell.  If  yo're  still  feelin*  fighty 
be  in  town  when  I  hit  it." 

"I'll  be  there,"  Blakely  assured  him. 

When  Loudon  had  bidden  Johnny  Ramsay  good-bye,  he 
went  out  and  mounted  Ranger  and  rode  away  with  Jack 
Richie. 

"I'm  goin'  away  from  here,  Jack,"  said  Loudon,  after 
Richie  had  discussed  in  profane  detail  the  88's  endeavour  to 
discredit  him. 

"I  thought  yuh  was  goin'  to  work  for  me?"  exclaimed 
Richie  in  surprise. 

"I  was,  but  somethin's  happened  since  then.  I'm  kind  o' 
sick  oj  the  Lazy  River  country.  I  need  a  change." 

"Well,  you  know  best.     But " 

"I  know  what  yo're  thinkin'.  If  I  go  now  the  88  will 
think  I've  quit  cold.  Let  'em  think  it.  I  don't  care.  But 
I'll  be  back.  I  made  an  appointment  with  Blakely  to  meet 
him  in  Farewell  three  months  from  to-day." 

"That's  good  hearin'.  But  I'm  shore  sorry  you  ain't  goin* 
to  ride  for  me." 

"So'm  I." 

"Stay  over  to-night  anyway.  Yuh  ain't  in  any  howlin* 
rush  to  get  away,  are  yuh?" 

"No,  I  ain't  so  hurried.  I  dunno  where  I'll  head — north, 
maybe." 

"If  yo're  goin'  north,  why  don't  yuh  try  Scotty  Macken 
zie?  He  owns  the  Fly  in'  M  horse  ranch  over  beyond  Para 
dise  Bend.  There's  three  or  four  good  cow  ranches  near  the 
Bend — the  Seven  Lazy  Seven,  the  Wagon-wheel,  the  Two 
Bar,  an'  the  T  V  U." 

"Maybe  I  will  hit  the  Bend." 

"If  yuh  do,"  pursued  Richie,  "yuh  might  stop  an'  say 
howdy  at  Cap'n  Burr's.  He  married  my  sister,  Burr  did, 
an'  all  yuh  got  to  do  is  say  yuh  know  me,  an'  they'll  give  yuh 
the  house.  I  guess,  though,  yuh  know  Cap'n  Burr  yoreself ." 

"Shore  I  do.  It  was  the  Cap'n  who  put  me  on  to  buyin* 
Ranger  here.  He  kept  tellin'  me  about  this  amazin'  good 
cayuse  over  at  the  88,  an'  finally  I  went  over,  liked  his  looks, 


58  PARADISE  BEND 

an'  bought  him.  The  Cap'n  was  at  the  88  the  day  I  took  the 
hoss  away.  He'd  just  freighted  in  a  bunch  o'  stuff  Blakely'd 
ordered.  Cap'n  Burr  does  a  powerful  lot  o'  business." 

"Don't  he  now.  Yuh  wouldn't  think  tin-peddlin'  would 
pay  so  well.  Oh,  him  an'  his  little  old  team  o'  blues  shore 
glom  onto  the  coin." 

When  Loudon  rode  into  Farewell  on  the  following  day  he 
saw  half-a-dozen  88  cow-ponies  hitched  to  the  rail  in  front 
of  the  Palace  Saloon. 

"Now  that's  cheerful,"  said  Loudon.  "For  a  peaceable 
feller  I  shore  do  tie  in  with  trouble  a  heap." 

He  turned  aside  at  the  hotel  and  tapped  the  landlord 
awake.  At  sight  of  Loudon  Bill  Lainey's  eyes  opened  to 
their  fullest  extent  and  his  red  face  turned  purple  with  excite 
ment. 

"Say,"  huskily  whispered  Lainey,  "Shorty  Simms,  Rudd, 
Dakota  Riley,  an*  three  more  o'  the  88  boys  are  in  town. 
They're  tankin'  up  down  in  the  Palace.  Rudd's  yowlin' 
round  how  he's  goin'  to  drill  yuh.  He's  a  heap  peevish, 
Rudd  is.  I  guess  now  yuh  must  'a'  riled  him  somehow, 
Tom." 

"I  guess  maybe  I  did,  Bill.  I'll  take  a  little  walk  down  to 
the  Palace  after  I  eat.  Thanks  for  the  warnin'.  Feed  the 
little  hoss,  will  yuh,  Bill?" 

"Shore.     Go  on  in  an'  holler  for  Lize." 

While  Loudon  was  eating,  a  wiry,  brisk  little  man  with  a 
white  beard  entered  the  dining  room. 

"How  are  yuh,  Cap'n?"  grinned  Loudon. 

Captain  Burr,  surprise  and  embarrassment  in  his  steel-blue 
eyes,  advanced  and  gripped  London's  hand. 

"Loudon!  By  ,  suh!"  he  exclaimed.  "This  is  in 
deed  a  pleasuh!" 

The  tin-peddler  slid  into  a  chair  and  cleared  his  throat 
several  times. 

"I  feah,  suh,"  he  said,  shamefacedly,  "that  I  have  tres 
passed  on  youah  prese  'ves.  Had  I  known  that  you  were  in 
town  I  would  have  stayed  my  hand." 


PESTILENT  FELLOWS  59 

"Why?     What?"  queried  London. 

"Well,  suh,  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  story.  It's  sho't. 
Twenty  minutes  ago  I  ente'ed  the  Palace  Saloon.  While 
drinking  at  the  bah  I  could  not  help  but  overheah  the  conve'- 
sation  of  half-a-dozen  88  cowboys.  One  of  them,  a  man 
named  Rudd,  mentioned  youah  name  and  called  you  a 
rustlah. 

"You,  Tom,  are  my  friend,  and,  since  I  was  unaware  that 
you  were  in  town,  I  felt  that  I  could  not  stand  idly  by.  I  in 
fo 'med  this  Rudd  person  that  traducing  the  absent  was  not 

the  act  of  a  gentleman.  I  also  called  him  a scoundrel 

and  a  liah  to  boot.  He  took  exception  to  my  wo'ds  and,  I 
was  fo'ced  to  shoot  him. 

"You  unde'stand, Tom,  that  I  acted  in  complete  good  faith. 
I  believed  you  to  be  at  the  Bah  S.  Otherwise,  I  should  have 
repo'ted  the  mattah  to  you.  Of  co'se,  I  would  have  stood 
at  youah  back  while  you  shot  the  rascal.  His  ruffianly 
friends  ah  not  to  be  trusted." 

"Don't  apologize,  Cap'n,"  said  London,  and  he  reached 
across  the  table  and  shook  hands  again. 

Captain  Burr  appeared  to  be  greatly  comforted  at  London's 
ready  acceptance  of  his  explanation,  and  he  attacked  his  beef 
and  beans  with  appetite. 

The  captain  was  a  good  deal  of  a  mystery  to  the  folk  with 
whom  he  came  in  contact.  His  mode  of  speech  and  his  table 
manners  were  not  those  of  ordinary  men.  But  he  was  a  man, 
with  all  that  the  name  implies,  and  as  such  they  had  learned 
to  accept  him.  I  employ  "learned"  advisedly.  Certain  un 
thinking  individuals  had,  when  the  captain  was  a  comparative 
stranger  in  that  region,  commented  upon  his  traits  and  re 
ceived  a  prompt  and  thorough  chastening. 

Captain  Burr  gained  thereby  an  enviable  reputation.  In 
reality  there  was  no  mystery  attached  to  the  old  tin-peddler. 
He  had  simply  been  born  a  gentleman. 

"Did  Rudd  die?  "  inquired  London  in  a  tone  of  studied  cas- 
ualness,  when  he  had  finished  his  meal. 

"He  did  not,"  replied  the  Captain.  "Unless  blood-poison 
ing  sets  in  he  will  live  to  be  hung.  My  bullet  broke  his  ahm. 


60  PARADISE  BEND 

He  rode  away  with  his  comrades  five  minutes  lateh.  No 
doubt  he  was  in  some  pain,  but  the  rogue  was  suffering  much 
less  than  he  dese'ved.  I  realize  that  I  should  have  killed 
him,  of  co'se,  but  as  I  grow  oldeh  I  find  myself  becoming 
soft-heahted.  Time  was — but  one  must  not  dwell  in  the  past. 
These  beans  ah  excellent,  Tom." 

"They  are.     Pullin'  out  soon?" 

"At  once.  I'm  bound  no'th.  I  intend  to  visit  all  the 
ranches  between  heah  and  Paradise  Bend.  I  hope  to  be 
home  in  two  weeks.  Ah  you  travelling  my  way?  " 

"Yep.     I  guess  I'm  bound  for  the  Bend,  too." 

"Then  I  will  ask  you  to  deliveh  a  letteh  to  my  wife.  I 
missed  the  Bend  stage  by  two  houahs  to-day,  and  theah  is  no 
otheh  fo'  three  days." 

Loudon  took  the  letter  and  placed  it  carefully  in  the  inside 
pocket  of  his  vest. 

While  Captain  Burr  was  harnessing  his  team,  a  job  in 
which  the  tin-peddler  always  refused  assistance,  Loudon 
rode  down  the  street  with  the  intention  of  buying  tobacco 
at  the  Blue  Pigeon  Store.  In  front  of  the  Happy  Heart 
Saloon,  opposite  the  Palace  Dance  Hall,  stood  Sheriff  Block 
and  five  citizens. 

As  Loudon  rode  past  the  sheriff  made  a  low- voiced  remark 
and  laughed  loudly.  Instantly  the  five  citizens  burst  into 
cackles.  For  Block,  besides  being  sheriff,  owned  both  the 
Palace  and  the  Happy  Heart.  Hence  most  of  Farewell's 
inhabitants  took  their  cue  from  him. 

The  cachination  in  front  of  the  Happy  Heart  grated  on 
London's  feelings  as  well  as  his  ear-drums.  He  knew  that  the 
sheriff,  kindly  soul,  was  holding  him  up  to  ridicule.  Kate's 
refusal  of  him  had  made  Loudon  somewhat  reckless.  He  had 
intended  having  it  out  with  Rudd,  but  Captain  Burr  had 
forestalled  him  there.  Here,  however,  was  the  sheriff  of  the 
county,  another  enemy.  Loudon  turned  his  horse. 

Promptly  the  five  friends  oozed  in  various  directions. 
Sheriff  Block,  a  lonely  figure,  held  his  ground. 

"I  hear  yo're  lookin'  for  me,"  announced  Loudon,  a  laugh 
ing  devil  in  his  gray  eyes. 


PESTILENT  FELLOWS  61 

"Who  told  yuh?"  queried  the  sheriff,  puzzled.  He  had 
expected  something  totally  different. 

"Who  told  me?  Oh,  several  little  birds.  So  I  want  to 
find  out  about  it.  I  wouldn't  like  to  put  yuh  to  any  trouble — 
such  as  huntin'  me  up,  for  instance." 

"  That's  good  o'  yuh.    But  I  ain't  lookin'  for  yuh,  not  yet." 

"I'm  right  glad  to  hear  that.  Them  little  birds  must  'a* 
lied.  Powerful  lot  o'  lyin'  goin'  on  in  the  world,  ain't  there?  " 

"I  dunno  nothin'  about  it,"  mumbled  the  sheriff,  who  was 
becoming  more  and  more  puzzled  at  the  apparently  aimless 
words  of  the  puncher. 

"Don't  yuh?"  grinned  London.  "That's  shore  hard  to 
believe." 

The  sheriff  warily  refused  to  take  offence,  and  mumbled 
unintelligibly. 

"Forget  that  afternoon  in  the  draw  west  o'  Little  Bear 
Mountain?"  relentlessly  pursued  London.  "We  had  some 
words — remember?  Yuh  said  somethin'  about  me  havin' 
the  drop.  I  ain't  got  the  drop  now.  My  hands  are  on  the 
horn.  Yore's  are  hooked  in  yore  belt.  But  I'll  lay  yuh  two 
to  one  I  bust  yuh  plumb  centre  before  yuh  can  pull.  Take 
me  up?" 

London's  lips  were  smiling,  but  his  eyes  stared  with  a  dis 
concerting  gray  chilliness  into  the  small  black  eyes  of  Sheriff 
Block.  The  officer's  eyelids  wavered,  winked,  and  Block 
shifted  his  gaze  to  London's  chin. 

"I  ain't  startin'  no  gun-play  for  nothin',"  said  Block  with 
finality. 

Loudon  held  up  a  ten-dollar  gold  piece. 

"Two  to  one,"  he  urged. 

But  the  sheriff  perceived  that  the  hand  holding  the  gold 
piece  was  London's  left  hand,  and  he  could  not  quite  screw 
his  courage  to  the  sticking-point.  Block  was  ordinarily 
brave  enough,  but  he  was  bad,  and  as  a  rule  there  is  at  least 
one  individual  whom  the  bad  man  fears.  And  Block  feared 
Loudon. 

The  sheriff's  mean  and  vicious  spirit  writhed  within  him. 
He  hated  Loudon,  hated  him  for  his  cocksureness,  for  his 


62  PARADISE  BEND 

easy  fearlessness.  He  would  have  sold  his  soul  to  the  devil 
in  return  for  the  ability  to  reach  for  his  gun.  The  sheriff 
licked  his  lips. 

Lou  don,  still  smiling,  continued  to  hold  aloft  the  gold  piece. 
The  onlookers — half  of  Farewell  by  this  time — awaited  the 
outcome  in  tense  silence. 

Suddenly  the  sheriff  shook  his  shoulders,  spat  on  the  side 
walk,  wheeled,  and  entered  the  Happy  Heart. 

London  flipped  the  gold  piece  into  the  air,  caught  it,  and 
returned  it  to  his  vest-pocket.  Without  a  glance  at  the 
keenly  disappointed  populace,  he  turned  Ranger  and  loped 
to  the  Blue  Pigeon  Store. 

When  he  emerged,  followed  by  the  bawled  "Good  lucks!'* 
of  the  proprietor,  Captain  Burr  was  waiting.  The  tin- 
peddler's  face  was  grave  but  his  steel-blue  eyes  were  twink 
ling  with  suppressed  merriment. 

"Well,  suh "  chuckled  the  captain,  when  they  were 

out  of  earshot  of  the  Farewell  citizens — "well,  suh,  you 
ce'tainly  talked  to  that  sheriff.  Lord,  Tom,  it  made  me  laugh. 
I  didn't  know  that  Block  was  so  lacking  in  honah  and  spo'ting 
spirit.  I  fully  expected  to  witness  quite  a  ruction." 

"I  wasn't  lookin'  for  a  fight,"  disclaimed  Loudon.  "I 
knowed  Block  wouldn't  pull.  It  was  safe  as  takin'  pie  from 
a  baby." 

"I'm  not  so  shuah,"  doubted  Captain  Burr.  "Any  reptile 
is  mighty  unce'tain.  And  this  reptile  had  friends.  I  was 
watching  them.  My  Spenceh  seven-shooteh  was  ready  fo' 
action.  You  Rob'et  E.  Lee  hoss,  pick  up  youah  feet!  Well, 
I'm  glad  it  ended  peacefully.  My  wife  and  daughteh,  as  I 
may  have  mentioned,  do  not  approve  of  fighting.  They  can 
not  realize  how  necessa'y  it  becomes  at  times.  It  would  be 
well,  I  think,  when  you  reach  the  Bend,  to  refrain  from  men 
tioning  my  little  disagreement  with  Rudd.  My  family 
might  heah  of  it,  and — but  you  unde'stand,  don't  you, 
Tom?" 

"'Course,  I  do,  Cap'n,"  heartily  concurred  Loudon.  "I 
won't  say  a  word." 

"Thank  you." 


PESTILENT  FELLOWS  63 

Captain  Burr  fell  silent.     Suddenly  he  began  to  laugh. 

"Po'  Farewell,"  he  chuckled.  "Theah  will  be  some  pow- 
deh  bu'nt  befo'  the  day  is  out." 

"How?" 

"Block.  His  pride  has  had  a  fall.  Quite  a  few  saw  the 
tumble.  An  o'dina'y  man  would  tuck  his  tail  between  his 
legs  and  go  elsewheah.  But  the  sheriff  is  not  an  o'dina'y 
man.  He's  too  mean.  In  order  to  reinstate  himself  in  the 
affections  of  the  townspeople  he  will  feel  compelled  to  shoot 
one  of  them.  Mahk  my  wo'ds,  theah  will  be  trouble  in  the 
smoke  fo'  Farewell." 

"It  can  stand  it.  Outside  o'  Mike  Flynn,  an'  Bill  Lainey 
an'  his  wife,  there  ain't  a  decent  two-legged  party  in  the  whole 
place." 

Captain  Burr  nodded  and  turned  an  appreciative  eye  on 
Ranger. 

"That  chestnut  boss  ce'tainly  does  please  me,"  he  said. 
"I  wish  I'd  bought  him  myself.  I  do  indeed." 


CHAPTER    VII 

PARADISE      BEND 

WHERE  the  Dogsoldier  River  doubles  on  itself  be 
tween  Baldy  Mountain  and  the  Government  Hills 
sprawls  the  little  town  of  Paradise  Bend.  Larger 
than  Farewell,  it  boasted  of  two  stores,  a  Wells  Fargo  office, 
two  dance  halls,  and  five  saloons.  The  inevitable  picket  line 
of  empty  bottles  and  tin  cans  encircled  it,  and  its  main  street 
and  three  cross  streets  were  made  unlovely  by  the  familiar 
false  fronts  and  waveringly  misspelt  signs. 

London  stared  at  the  prospect  with  a  pessimistic  eye. 
Solitude — he  had  parted  with  Captain  Burr  the  previous  day 
— and  the  introspection  engendered  thereby  had  rendered 
him  gloomy.  The  sulky  devil  that  had  prompted  him  to 
seek  a  quarrel  with  Sheriff  Block  abode  with  him  still.  Sul 
lenly  he  checked  his  horse  in  front  of  the  Chicago  Store. 

"Mornin',"  said  Loudon,  addressing  a  dilapidated  ancient 
sitting  on  a  cracker  box.  "  Can  yuh  tell  me  where  Cap'n  Burr 
lives?" 

"Howdy,  stranger?"  replied  the  elderly  person,  eying  with 
extreme  disfavour  the  88  brand  on  Ranger's  hip.  "I  shore 
can.  Ride  on  down  past  the  Three  Card,  turn  to  the  left, 
an*  keep  a-goin'.  It's  the  last  house." 

Loudon  nodded  and  continued  on  his  way.  The  ancient 
followed  him  with  alert  eyes. 

When  Loudon  drew  abreast  of  the  Three  Card  Saloon  a 
man  issued  from  the  doorway,  glimpsed  Ranger's  brand,  and 
immediately  hastened  into  the  street  and  greeted  Loudon  after 
the  fashion  of  an  old  friend. 

"C'mon  an*  licker,"  invited  the  man,  as  Loudon  checked 
his  horse. 

"Now  tnat's  what  I  call  meetin'  yuh  with  a  brass  band," 

64 


PARADISE  BEND  65 

remarked  Loudon.  "Do  yuh  always  make  a  stranger  to 
home  this-away?" 

"Always,"  grinned  the  other.  "I'm  the  reception  com 
mittee." 

"I'm  trailin'  yuh,"  said  Loudon,  dismounting. 

He  flung  the  reins  over  Ranger's  head  and  followed  the 
cordial  individual  into  the  saloon.  While  they  stood  at  the 
bar  Loudon  took  stock  of  the  other  man. 

He  was  a  good-looking  young  fellow,  strong-chinned, 
straight-mouthed,  with  brown  hair  and  eyes.  His  expression 
was  winning,  too  winning,  and  there  was  a  certain  knowing 
look  in  his  eye  that  did  not  appeal  to  Loudon.  The  latter 
drank  his  whisky  slowly,  his  brain  busily  searching  for  the 
key  to  the  other  man's  conduct. 

"Gambler,  I  guess,"  he  concluded.  "I  must  look  like 
ready  money.  Here's  where  one  tinhorn  gets  fooled." 

After  commenting  at  some  length  on  the  extraordinary 
dryness  of  the  season,  Loudon's  bottle-acquaintance,  under 
cover  of  the  loud-voiced  conversation  of  three  punchers  at 
the  other  end  of  the  bar,  said  in  a  low  tone: 

"Couldn't  Sam  come?" 

Loudon  stared.  The  other  noted  his  mystification,  and 
mistook  it. 

"I'm  Pete  O'Leary,"  he  continued.     "It's  all  right." 

"  Shore  it  is,"  conceded  the  puzzled  Loudon.  "  My  name's 
Loudon.  Have  another." 

The  knowing  look  in  Pete  O'Leary's  eyes  was  displaced  by 
one  of  distrust.  He  drank  abstractedly,  mumbled  an  excuse 
about  having  to  see  a  man,  and  departed. 

Loudon  bought  half-a-dozen  cigars,  stuffed  five  into  the 
pocket  of  his  shirt,  lit  the  sixth,  and  went  out  to  his  horse. 
Puffing  strongly,  he  mounted  and  turned  into  the  street 
designated  by  the  dilapidated  ancient.  As  he  loped  past  the 
corner  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder.  He  noted  that  not  only 
was  Pete  O'Leary  watching  him  from  the  window  of  a  dance 
hall,  but  that  the  tattered  old  person,  leaning  against  a 
hitching  rail,  was  observing  him  also. 

"I  might  be  a  hoss-thief  or  somethin',"  muttered  Loudon 


66  PARADISE  BEND 

with  a  frown.  "This  shore  is  a  queer  village  o'  prairie  dogs. 
The  cigar's  good,  anyway."  Then,  his  horse  having  covered 
a  hundred  yards  in  the  interval,  he  quoted,  "  'Couldn't  Sam 
come?'  an',  'I'm  Pete  O'Leary.'  Sam,  Sam,  who's  Sam? 
Now  if  Johnny  Ramsay  was  here  he'd  have  it  all  figured  out 
in  no  time." 

"Why,  Mr.  London !    Oh,  wait !    Do  wait ! " 

London  turned  his  head.  In  the  doorway  of  a  house  stood 
a  plump  young  woman  waving  a  frantic  dish-cloth.  Ranger, 
bard  held,  slid  to  a  halt,  turned  on  a  nickel,  and  shot  back  to 
the  beckoning  young  woman. 

"Well,  ma'am,"  said  Loudon,  removing  his  hat. 

"Don't  you  remember  me?  "  coquet  tishly  pouted  the  plump 
lady. 

Loudon  remembered  her  perfectly.  She  was  Mrs.  Mace, 
wife  of  Jim  Mace,  a  citizen  of  Paradise  Bend.  He  had  met 
her  the  year  before  when  she  was  visiting  Kate  Saltoun  at  the 
Bar  S.  He  had  not  once  thought  of  Mrs.  Mace  since  her 
departure  from  the  ranch,  and  of  course  he  had  completely 
forgotten  that  she  lived  in  Paradise  Bend.  If  he  had  recalled 
the  fact,  he  would  have  sought  the  Burrs'  residence  by  some 
other  route.  One  of  Kate's  friends  was  the  last  person  on 
earth  he  cared  to  meet. 

"Shore,  I  remember  yuh,  Mrs.  Mace,"  said  Loudon, 
gravely.  "I'm  right  glad  to  see  yuh,"  he  added,  heavily 
polite. 

"Are  you?"  said  the  lady  somewhat  sharply.  "Try  to 
look  happy  then.  I  ain't  a  grizzly,  an'  I  don't  bite  folks.  I 
won't  stop  you  more'n  a  second." 

"Why,  ma'am,  I  am  glad  to  see  yuh,"  protested  Loudon, 
"an'  I  ain't  in  no  hurry,  honest." 

"That's  all  right.  I  ain't  offended.  Say,  how's  Kate  an' 
her  pa?" 

"Fine  when  I  saw  'em  last.     Kate's  as  pretty  as  ever." 

"She  ought  to  be.  She  ain't  married.  Matrimony  shore 
does  rough  up  a  woman's  figure  an'  face.  Lord,  I'm  a  good 
thirty  pounds  heavier  than  I  was  when  I  saw  you  last.  Say, 


PARADISE  BEND  67 

do  you  know  if  Kate  got  that  dress  pattern  I  sent  her  last 
month?'* 

"I  dunno,  ma'am.     I  didn't  hear  her  say." 

"I  s'pose  not.  I  guess  you  two  had  more  important 
things  to  talk  about.  Say,  how  are  you  an'  Kate  gettin' 
along,  anyway?" 

"Why,  all  right,  I  guess." 

Loudon  felt  extremely  unhappy.  Mrs.  Mace's  keen  gaze 
was  embarrassing.  So  was  her  next  utterance. 

"Well,  I  guess  I'll  write  to  Kate,"  remarked  the  lady,  "an* 
find  out  about  that  dress  pattern.  She  always  was  a  poor 
writer,  but  she'd  ought  to  have  sent  me  a  thank-you  anyway, 
an'  me  her  best  friend.  I'll  tell  her  I  saw  yuh,  Mr.  Loudon." 

"Don't  tell  her  on  my  account,"  said  Loudon.  Then,  real 
izing  his  mistake,  he  continued  hurriedly,  "Shore,  tell  her. 
She'd  enjoy  hearin  ,  o'  course." 

"Don't  tell  me  you  two  haven't  been  quarrellin',"  chided 
Mrs.  Mace,  shaking  a  fat  forefinger  at  Loudon.  "You'd 
ought  to  be  ashamed  o  yourselves,  rowin'  this  way." 

"  Why,  ma'am,  yo're  mistaken.  Me  quarrel?  I  guess  not ! 
But  I  got  to  be  goin'.  Good-bye,  ma'am.  I'll  see  yuh  again. 

Loudon,  raging,  loped  away.  Meeting  one  of  Kate's 
friends  was  bad  enough  in  itself.  For  the  friend  wantonly  to 
flick  him  on  the  raw  was  intolerable. 

Loudon  began  to  believe  that  women  were  put  into  the 
world  for  the  purpose  of  annoying  men.  But  when  he  had 
dismounted  in  front  of  the  best  house  on  the  street,  and  the 
door  had  been  opened  in  response  to  his  knock,  he  changed  his 
mind,  for  a  brown-haired  young  girl  with  a  very  pleasant 
smile  was  looking  at  him  inquiringly. 

"Is  this  where  Captain  Burr  lives?"  queried  Loudon. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  girl,  her  smile  broadening. 

"Then  here's  a  letter  for  Mis'  Burr.  The  Cap'n  asked  me 
to  bring  it  up  for  him." 

"A  letter  for  me?  "exclaimed  a  sharp  voice,  and  the  speaker, 
a  tall,  angular,  harsh-featured  woman,  appeared  at  the 
girl's  side  with  the  suddenness  of  a  Jack-in-the-box.  "From 
Benjamin?"  continued  the  harsh-featured  woman,  uttering 


68  PARADISE  BEND 

her  words  with  the  rapidity  of  a  machine-gun's  fire.  "How 
is  he  ?  When  d'you  see  him  last  ?  When's  he  comin5  home  ? ' ' 

"Heavens,  Ma!"  laughed  the  girl,  before  London  could 
make  any  reply.  "Give  the  poor  man  a  chance  to  breathe/* 

"You  got  to  excuse  me,  stranger,"  said  Mrs.  Burr.  "But 
Fm  always  so  worried  about  Benjamin  when  he's  travellin*. 
He's  so  venturesome.  But  come  in,  stranger.  Come  in  an* 
rest  yore  hat.  Dinner's  'most  ready/' 

"Whys  thank  yuh,  ma'am,"  stuttered  the  embarrassed 
Loudon.  "But  I  guess  I'll  go  to  the  hotel/' 

"I  guess  yuh  won't!"  snapped  Mrs.  Burr.  "I  never  let 
one  o'  my  husband's  friends  'cept  Scotty  Mackenzie  eat  at 
the  hotel  yet,  an'  I  ain't  goin'  to  begin  now.  You'll  just 
come  right  inside  an'  tell  me  all  about  Benjamin  while  yo're 
eatin'.  That  your  hoss?  Well,  the  corral's  behind  the  house. 
Dorothy,  you  go  with  the  gentleman  an*  see  that  he  don't 
stampede." 

Loudon,  brick-red  beneath  his  tan,  seized  Ranger's  bridle 
and  followed  Miss  Burr  to  the  corral.  While  he  was  un 
saddling  he  looked  up  and  caught  her  eying  him  amusedly. 
He  grinned  and  she  laughed  outright. 

"I'm  glad  you  didn't  stampede,"  she  said,  her  brown  eyes 
twinkling.  "Mother  would  have  been  heart-broken  if  you 
had.  Whenever  any  of  Dad's  friends  are  in  town  they  never 
think  of  eating  at  the  hotel — except  Scotty  Mackenzie. 
Scotty  stubbornly  refuses  to  dine  withms.  He  says  mother's 
cooking  takes  away  his  appetite  for*what  he  calls  ranch  grub. 
Mother  is  really  a  wonderful  cook.  You'll  see." 

In  this  manner  was  the  ice  broken,  and  London's  sullen 
gloom  had  gone  from  him  by  the  time  he  entered  the  Burr 
kitchen.  On  the  Turkey-red  tablecloth  a  broiled  steak,  sur 
rounded  by  roasted  potatoes,  reposed  on  a  platter.  Flanking 
the  platter  were  a  bowl  of  peas  and  a  large  dish  of  sliced  beets 
adrip  with  butter  sauce.  Loudon's  eyes  opened  wide  in 
amazement.  Never  in  all  his  life  had  he  beheld  such  an 
appetizing  array  of  edibles. 

"Looks  good,  don't  it?"  beamed  Mrs.  Burr. 

It  was  wonderful  how  her  smile  transformed  her  forbidding 


PARADISE  BEND  69 

features.  To  Loudon  she  appeared  as  a  benevolent  angel. 
He  could  only  nod  dumbly. 

"Set  now,  an'  don't  be  afraid  o'  the  victuals,"  continued 
Mrs.  Burr,  filling  the  coffee-cups.  "It  all  has  to  be  et,  an'  I 
shore  do  hate  to  chuck  out  good  grub.  Lord,  it  makes  me 
feel  fine  to  cook  for  a  man  again!  What  did  you  say  yore 
name  is,  Mister?  .  .  .  Loudon,  o'  course;  I  never  can 
catch  a  name  the  first  time.  I  always  got  to  hear  it  twice. 
Dorothy,  you  reach  over  an'  dish  out  them  peas  an'  beets. 
Take  that  piece  of  steak  next  the  bone,  Mister  Loudon.  Like 
gravy  on  yore  'taters?  Most  do.  My  man  does,  special. 
Here's  a  spoon.  Dorothy,  pass  the  bread." 

Everything  tasted  even  better  than  it  looked.  Loudon 
ate  a  second  piece  of  dried-apple  pie,  and  had  a  fourth  cup  of 
coffee  to  top  off  with.  To  the  puncher  it  had  been  a  marvel 
lous  dinner.  No  wonder  Scotty  Mackenzie  demurred  at  din 
ing  with  the  Burrs.  After  one  such  meal  sowbelly  and  Miners 
Delights  would  be  as  bootsole  and  buckshot. 

"You  can  smoke  right  here,"  said  Mrs.  Burr,  after  Loudon 
had  refused  a  fifth  cup  of  coffee.  "Shove  yore  chair  back 
agin'  the  wall,  hook  up  yore  feet,  an'  be  happy  while  Dorothy 
an'  I  wash  the  dishes.  I  like  to  see  a  man  comfortable,  I  do. 
So  you  know  my  brother.  Well,  well,  ain't  the  world  a  small 
place?  How're  Jack  an'  the  Cross-in-a-box  makin'  out?  He 
never  thinks  to  write,  Jack  Richie  don't,  the  lazy  rapscallion. 
Wait  till  I  set  eyes  on  him.  I'll  tell  him  a  thing  or  two." 

Loudon,  in  no  haste  to  find  Scotty  Mackenzie,  was  smoking 
his  fifth  cigarette  when  the  dilapidated  ancient  of  the  cracker 
box  stuck  his  head  in  the  door. 

"Howdy,  Mis'  Burr?"  said  the  ancient.  "Howdy, 
Dorothy?" 

"'Lo,  Scotty,"  chorused  the  two  women.  "Let  me  make 
yuh  acquainted  with  Mr.  Loudon,  Scotty,"  continued  Mrs. 
Burr.  "Mr.  Loudon,  shake  hands  with  Mr.  Mackenzie." 

Loudon  gripped  hands  with  the  ragged  ancient.  In  the 
latter's  bright  blue  eyes  was  no  friendliness. 

He  acknowledged  the  introduction  with  careful  politeness, 
and  sat  down  on  a  chair  in  a  corner.  Having  deftly  rolled  a 


70  PARADISE  BEND 

cigarette,  he  flipped  the  match  through  the  doorway,  tilted 
back  his  chair,  remarked  that  the  weather  was  powerful  dry, 
and  relapsed  into  silence.  He  took  no  further  part  in  the 
conversation. 

At  the  end  of  the  kitchen,  between  the  windows,  hung  a 
small  mirror.  London,  idly  watching  the  two  women  as  they 
moved  about  resetting  the  table,  happened  to  glance  at 
the  mirror.  In  it  he  saw  reflected  the  face  of  Scotty 
Mackenzie. 

The  features  were  twisted  into  an  almost  demoniac  ex 
pression  of  hate.  Slowly  Loudon  turned  his  head.  Macken 
zie,  his  eyes  on  the  floor,  was  smoking,  his  expression  one  of 
serene  well-being. 

"He  don't  like  me  any,"  decided  Loudon,  and  pondered  the 
advisability  of  asking  Mackenzie  for  a  job. 

It  was  not  Mackenzie's  lack  of  friendliness  that  gave  Lou 
don  pause.  It  was  the  man's  appearance.  Even  for  the 
West,  where  attire  does  not  make  the  man,  Mackenzie  had 
not  an  inspiring  presence.  His  trousers  showed  several 
patches  and  a  rip  or  two.  His  vest  was  in  a  worse  state  than 
his  trousers.  His  blue  flannel  shirt  had  turned  green  in 
spots,  and  the  left  sleeve  had  once  belonged  to  a  red  flannel 
undershirt.  Two  holes  yawned  in  the  corner  of  his  floppy- 
brimmed  hat,  and  his  boots,  run  over  at  the  heels,  would 
have  shamed  a  tramp. 

That  this  economically  garbed  individual  could  prove  a 
good  employer  seemed  doubtful.  Yet  he  had  been  recom 
mended  by  Jack  Richie. 

Mackenzie  suddenly  mumbled  that  he  guessed  he'd  better 
be  going,  and  rose  to  his  feet.  Loudon  followed  him  into  the 
street.  Mackenzie  halted  and  half -turned  as  Loudon  caught 
up  with  him.  Loudon  noted  that  the  ancient's  hand  was 
closer  to  his  gun-butt  than  politeness  and  the  circumstances 
warranted. 

"Hirin'  any  men?"  inquired  Loudon. 

"I  might,"  replied  Mackenzie,  the  pupils  of  his  blue  eyes 
shrunk  to  pin-points.  "  Who,  for  instance?  " 

"Me  for  one," 


PARADISE  BEND  71 

Mackenzie  continued  to  stare.  Loudon,  who  never  lowered 
his  eyes  to  any  man,  steadily  returned  the  ancient's  gaze. 

"Yo're  hired,"  said  Mackenzie,  suddenly.  "Git  yore  hoss. 
I'll  meet  yuh  at  the  corner  o'  Main  Street." 

Mackenzie  walked  rapidly  away,  and  Loudon  returned  to 
the  house  of  the  Burrs.  He  took  his  leave  of  the  two  engag 
ing  women,  the  elder  of  whom  pressed  him  repeatedly  to  come 
again,  and  went  out  to  the  corral. 

While  Loudon  awaited  his  employer's  arrival  at  the  corner 
of  Main  Street  he  saw  Pete  O'Leary  emerge  from  the  door 
way  of  the  Three  Card  Saloon  and  walk  toward  him.  But 
the  young  man  of  the  knowing  brown  eye  did  not  cross  the 
street.  He  nodded  to  Loudon  and  swung  round  the  corner. 

The  Lazy  River  man  shifted  sidewise  in  the  saddle  and 
followed  him  with  his  eyes.  Pete  O'Leary  interested  Loudon. 
Folk  that  are  mysterious  will  bear  watching,  and  O'Leary 's 
manner  during  his  conversation  with  Loudon  had  been  per- 
plexingly  vague. 

"Now  I  wonder  where  that  nice-lookin'  young  fellah  is 
goin'?"  debated  Loudon.  "Burrs',  for  a  plugged  nickel! 
Yep,  there  he  goes  in  the  door.  Well,  Mis'  Burr  ain't  a  fool, 
but  if  I  owned  a  good-lookin'  daughter,  that  Pete  O'Leary 
ain't  just  the  right  brand  o'  party  I'd  want  should  come 
a-skirmishin'  round." 

London's  mental  soliloquy  was  cut  short  by  the  arrival  of 
Mackenzie.  The  ancient's  appalling  disregard  for  his  per 
sonal  appearance  did  not  extend  to  his  mount  and  saddlery. 
His  horse  was  a  handsome  bay.  The  saddle  he  sat  in  was  a 
Billings  swell-fork  tree,  with  a  silver  horn,  silver  conchas, 
carved  leather  skirts  and  cantle,  and  snowflake  leather  strings. 
The  bridle  was  a  split-ear,  with  a  nose-band  even  more  mar 
vellously  carved  than  the  saddle,  and  it  sported  a  blue  steel 
bit,  silver  inlaid,  and  eigh teen-inch  rein-chains.  The  most 
exacting  dandy  in  cowland  could  not  have  obtained  better 
equipment. 

Beyond  a  momentless  sentence  or  two  Mackenzie  said 
nothing  as  he  and  his  new  hand  rode  out  into  the  valley  of  the 
Dogsoldier.  He  maintained  his  silence  till  Loudon,  mutter- 


72  PAKADISE  BEND 

ing  that  his  cinches  required  tightening,  checked  Ranger  and 
dismounted. 

"Throw  up  yore  hands!"  was  the  harsh  order  that  fell 
on  London's  astonished  ears. 

Hands  above  his  head,  London  turned  slowly  and  stared 
into  the  muzzle  of  a  well-kept  six-shooter.  Behind  the  gun 
gleamed  the  frosty  blue  eyes  of  Scotty  Mackenzie. 

"Got  any  thin*  to  say  before  I  leave  yuh?"  inquired  Mack 
enzie. 

"That  depends  on  how  yuh  leave  me,"  countered  Loudon. 
"If  yo're  just  aimin'  to  say,  'So  long/  yuh  can't  go  too  quick. 
Yo're  a  mite  too  abrupt  to  suit  me.  But  if  yore  intention  is 
hostile,  then  I  got  a  whole  lot  to  say." 

"  Hostile  it  is,  young  feller.     Trot  out  yore  speech." 

"That's  handsome  enough  for  a  dog.  First,  I'd  shore  ad 
mire  to  know  why  yo're  hostile." 

"You  know." 

"I  don't  yet,"  denied  Loudon. 

Scotty  Mackenzie  stared  woodenly.  His  features  betrayed 
no  hint  of  his  purpose.  He  might  have  been  gazing  at  a  cow 
or  a  calf  or  the  kitchen  stove.  Nevertheless  Loudon  realized 
that  the  amazing  old  man  was  within  a  whisper  of  pulling 
trigger. 

"Yuh  see,"  observed  Loudon,  forcing  his  lips  to  smile 
pleasantly,  "  it  ain't  the  goin'  away  I  mind  so  much — it's  the 
not  knowin*  why.  I  get  off  to  fix  cinches,  an'  yuh  throw 
down  on  me.  I  ain't  done  nothin*  to  yuh — I  ain't  never 
seen  yuh  before,  an*  I  don't  believe  I've  ever  met  up  with  any 
o'  yore  relations,  so " 

"Yo're  from  the  88,"  interrupted  Mackenzie.  "That's 
enough!" 

"Bein*  from  the  88,"  said  Loudon,  "is  shore  a  bad  recom 
mend  for  any  man.  But  it  just  happens  I'm  from  the  Bar  S. 
I  never  have  rode  for  the  88,  an'  I  don't  think  I  ever  will." 

"What  are  yuh  doin*  with  a  88  hoss?"  pursued  the  unre 
lenting  Mackenzie. 

"88  hoss?  Why,  that  little  hoss  is  my  hoss.  I  bought  him 
from  the  88." 


PARADISE  BEND  73 

"The  brand  ain't  vented." 

"  I  know  it  ain't.  At  the  time  I  bought  him  I  didn't  expect 
to  have  to  tell  the  story  o'  my  life  to  every  old  bushwhacker 
in  the  territory,  or  I  shore  would  'a'  had  that  brand  vented." 

The  six-shooter  in  Mackenzie's  hand  remained  steady.  In 
his  chill  blue  eyes  was  no  flicker  of  indecision.  Loudon  was 
still  smiling,  but  he  felt  that  his  end  was  near. 

"Say,"  said  Loudon,  "when  you've  done  left  me,  I  wish 
yuh'd  send  my  hoss  an'  saddle  to  Johnny  Ramsay  o'  the  Cross 
in-a-box.  Johnny's  at  the  Bar  S  now — got  a  few  holes  in  him. 
But  you  send  the  hoss  to  Jack  Richie  an'  tell  him  to  keep  him 
for  Johnny  till  he  comes  back.  Don't  mind  doin*  that, 
do  yuh?  Ain't  aimin'  to  keep  the  cayuse,  are  yuh?" 

"Do  you  know  Johnny  Ramsay?"  queried  Mackenzie. 

"Ought  to.     Johnny  an'  me've  been  friends  for  years." 

"Know  Jack  Richie?" 

"Know  him  'most  as  well  as  I  do  Johnny.  An'  I  know 
Cap'n  Burr,  too.  Didn't  yuh  see  me  there  at  his  house?" 

"The  Cap'n  knows  lots  o'  folks,  an'  it  ain't  hard  to  scrape 
acquaintance  with  a  couple  o'  soft-hearted  women." 

"  I  brought  up  a  letter  from  Cap'n  Burr  to  his  wife.  You 
ask  her." 

"Oh,  shore.  Yuh  might  'a'  carried  a  letter  an'  still  be 
what  I  take  yuh  for." 

"Now  we're  back  where  we  started.  What  do  yuh  take 
me  for?" 

Mackenzie  made  no  reply.  Again  there  fell  between  the 
two  men  that  spirit-breaking  silence.  It  endured  a  full 
five  minutes,  to  be  broken  finally  by  Mackenzie. 

"Git  aboard  yore  hoss,"  said  the  ranch-owner.  "An' 
don't  go  after  no  gun." 

"I'd  rather  draw  what's  comin'  to  me  on  the  ground,"  ob 
jected  Loudon.  "It  ain't  so  far  to  fall." 

"Ain't  nothin'  comin'  to  yuh  yet.  Git  aboard,  go  on  to 
the  ranch,  an'  tell  my  foreman,  Doubleday,  I  sent  yuh,  an' 
that  I  won't  be  back  yet  awhile." 

"I  ain't  so  shore  I  want  to  work  for  yuh  now." 

"There  ain't  no  two  ways  about  it.     You'll  either  give  me 


74  PARADISE  BEND 

yore  word  to  go  on  to  the  ranch  an*  stay  there  till  I  come,  or 
yuh'll  stay  right  here.  After  I  come  back  yuh  can  quit  if  yuh 
like." 

"That's  a  harp  with  another  tune  entirely.     I'll  go  yuh." 

Loudon  turned  to  his  horse  and  swung  into  the  saddle. 

"Keep  a-goin*  along  this  trail,"  directed  Mackenzie,  his 
six-shooter  still  covering  Loudon.  "It's  about  eight  mile  to 
the  ranch." 

Loudon  did  not  look  back  as  he  rode  away. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

THE      AMAZING      MACKENZIE 

DOUBLED  AY,  a  squat  man  with  a  sharp  nose  and  a 
sharper  eye,  evinced  no  surprise  at  his  employer's 
message.  He  merely  swore  resignedly  on  learning 
that  Mackenzie  had  not  sent  in  the  mail  by  Loudon,  and 
in  the  same  breath  thanked  his  Maker  that  a  new  man  had 
arrived. 

The  advent  of  Loudon  was  most  opportune,  according  to 
Doubleday.  For,  one  "Lanky"  having  taken  a  wife  and  re 
moved  to  the  Sweet  River  Agency,  the  Flying  M  was  a  man 
short. 

"Turn  yore  hoss  into  the  big  corral,"  said  Doubleday,  when 
he  had  sufficiently  condemned  the  foolishness  of  Lanky, 
"an*  take  yore  saddle  over  to  the  bunkhouse.  There's  three 
empty  bunks.  Help  yoreself .  Then  c'mon  over  to  the  little 
corral  an'  bring  yore  rope.  Got  an  outlaw  stallion  with  a 
cut  hind  leg,  an*  it's  a  two-man  job." 

Loudon  found  favour  in  the  eyes  of  Doubleday.  The 
former  Bar  S  puncher  did  his  work  easily  and  well.  He  proved 
a  better  roper  than  Doubleday,  and  he  was  the  equal  in  horse 
manship  of  "Telescope"  Laguerre,  the  half-breed  buster. 

With  Laguerre,  Loudon  struck  up  an  instant  friendship. 
Telescope — which  name  was  the  natural  transformation  un 
dergone  by  Telesphore  in  a  Western  climate — was  a  long  lean 
man,  with  the  straight  black  hair  and  the  swarthy  complexion 
of  his  Indian  mother  and  the  mobile  features  and  facile 
speech  and  gestures  of  his  French  father.  When  Loudon 
had  been  at  the  Flying  M  three  days  Telescope  suggested 
that  they  ride  to  town  hi  the  evening. 

"We  weel  go  to  de  dance  hall,"  said  Laguerre.  "Fine 
woman  dere.  We  weel  dance  a  leetle,  we  weel  dreenk  de 

75 


76  PARADISE  BEND 

w'iskey,  un  we  weel  have  de  good  tarn.  By  gar,  I  not  been 
to  town  for  two  mont.  Wat  your  say,  Tom?" 

"I'd  shore  enjoy  goin'  along,  Telescope,  but  I  can't, "replied 
Loudon,  mindful  of  his  promise  to  Scotty  Mackenzie. 

"Dat  ees  all  right,"  said  the  large-hearted  half-breed. 
"She  ees  my  treat.  I  have  more  as  one  hundred  dollar,  un 
by  gar!  I  wan'  for  to  spen'  eet.  You  are  my  frien'.  You 
help  me  for  spen'  eet.  We  weel  burn  up  de  dance  hall." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  broke,"  said  Loudon.  "I'll  go  with  yuh  an 
other  time." 

Laguerre,  being  wise  in  his  generation,  forbore  to  insist,  and 
rode  to  town  alone.  The  cook  predicted  a  three-day  orgy. 

"Rats!"  said  Doubleday.  "Yuh  don't  know  Telescope. 
He  never  gets  drunk.  He  can't.  He  sops  it  up  an'  he  sops 
it  up,  an'  it  don't  bother  him  a  mite.  Wish  I  had  his  gift. 
Why,  I've  seen  him  tuck  away  a  quart  o'  killer  inside  o'  three 
hours,  an'  then  hop  out  with  his  rope  an'  fasten  on  a  hoss  any 
leg  you  tell  him.  He's  a  walkin'  miracle,  Telescope  is,  an' 
he'll  be  back  in  the  mornin'." 

Loudon,  oiling  his  saddle  in  front  of  the  bunkhouse,  glanced 
casually  at  the  cook  standing  in  the  doorway,  and  wondered 
for  the  twentieth  time  where  he  had  seen  the  man  before. 
On  his  arrival  at  the  Flying  M,  Loudon  had  sensed  that,  in  a 
vague  way,  the  cook's  face  was  familiar.  First  impressions 
had  taken  no  concrete  form.  He  could  not  remember  where 
or  under  what  circumstances  he  had  seen  the  cook.  But 
that  he  had  seen  him,  he  was  certain. 

The  cook's  name  was  Rufe  Cutting.  Which  name,  how 
ever,  was  not  enlightening.  Idly  speculating,  Loudon  went 
on  with  his  work.  The  cook  returned  to  the  kitchen. 

Laguerre  bore  out  the  statement  of  Doubleday.  He  re 
turned  while  the  men  were  saddling  in  the  morning.  He  did 
not  appear  in  the  least  degree  wearied.  Hurriedly  changing 
his  saddle  to  a  fresh  horse,  he  rode  away  with  Loudon. 

"By  gar!"  exclaimed  Laguerre.  "I  have  de  fine  tarn.  I 
dance,  I  dreenk  de  w'iskey,  un  I  play  de  pokair  wit'  Pete 
O'Leary  un  two  odder  men  un  I  tak'  deir  money.  I  ween 
feefty  dollar.  By  gar!  I  am  glad  I  go  to  town,  me." 


THE  AMAZING  MACKENZIE  77 

"Yuh  shore  ought  to  be,"  said  Loudon.  "Fifty  dollars. 
That's  right  good  hearin'." 

"Pete  O'Leary  she  wan'  for  know  'bout  you,"  continued 
Laguerre. 

"Pete  O'Leary  asked  about  me!     What  did  he  say,  huh? " 

"Oh,  she  not  say  eet  plain.  She  walk  een  de  watair.  But 
I  have  been  de  scout;  I  have  leeve  wit  Enjun;  I  know  w'at 
ees  een  ees  head.  She  talk  'bout  Lanky  quittin'  de  Fly  in' 
M,  un  she  wan'  for  know  have  Scotty  hired  new  man.  She 
say  she  see  Scotty  ride  out  wit'  you,  un  she  know  you  name. 
But  I  not  say  much.  I  tell  Pete  O'Leary  to  ask  Scotty  'bout 
hees  business,  un  I  not  say  eef  you  work  for  de  Flyin'  M  orj 
not.  For  I  tink  mabbeso  Pete  O'Leary  she  ees  not  frien'  to 
you." 

"Well,  he  ain't  strictly  hostyle  anyway,"  said  Loudon,  and 
he  forthwith  told  Laguerre  of  his  meeting  with  Pete  O'Leary 
and  of  the  latter's  strange  actions. 

"Dat  ees  varree  fonny,"  commented  Laguerre.  "Pete 
O'Leary  she  was  expectin'  de  frien'  or  de  message  mabbee. 
But  dat  ees  not  so  fonny  as  hees  askin'  'bout  you  so  moch. 
She  worry  'bout  you,  un  dat  ees  fonny.  Why  she  worry  eef 
she  hones'  man?  I  tell  you,  my  frien',  I  do  not  trus'  dat 
Pete  O'Leary.  I  would  watch  heem.  I  would  watch  heem 
varree  sharp." 

"Oh,  I  don't  believe  it  means  anythin',"  doubted  Loudon. 
"But  I'll  keep  an  eye  skinned  for  him." 

"You  better,  my  frien',  or  mabbeso  some  tarn  she  skeen 
you." 

A  week  later  Mackenzie  returned.  That  evening,  after 
supper,  Doubleday  told  Loudon  that  Scotty  wanted  to  see 
him.  Mackenzie,  chair  tilted,  feet  propped  on  the  table,  his 
hands  clasped  behind  his  head,  was  staring  up  at  the  ceiling 
when  Loudon  entered  the  office.  The  chair  descended  on 
four  legs  with  a  crash,  and  the  ancient  arose  briskly. 

"Stranger,"  said  Mackenzie,  his  blue  eyes  no  longer  frosty, 
"I  was  mistaken.  Yo're  a  gent  an'  a  white  man,  an'  I  ain't 
holdin'  out  nothin'.  Shake." 


78  PARADISE  BEND 

Loudon  grinned  and  shook  hands.  He  was  satisfied  with 
the  other's  apology. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  the  puncher.  "I  knowed  yuh  mis 
took  me  for  somebody  else.  But  I'd  shore  admire  to  know,  if 
it  ain't  private,  who  yuh  thought  I  was.'* 

"I  don't  mind  tellin'  yuh.  I  ain't  ever  talked  about  it 
much.  Dunno  why.  No  reason  why  I  shouldn't.  Sit  down, 
Loudon,  an'  I'll  tell  yuh.  When  I  first  seen  yuh  there  in  Main 
Street  that  88  brand  on  yore  hoss  made  me  suspicious. 

"Sam  Blakely  o'  the  88  an'  me  ain't  friends.  We  had  a 
run-in  some  eight  years  ago  over  at  Virginia  City,  an'  I  kind 
o'  left  Sam  the  worse  for  wear.  I  heard  later  how  Sam  was 
yellin'  'round  that  he'd  get  even.  Knowin'  Sam,  I  believed 
it.  An'  when  I  seen  you  ridin'  a  88  hoss,  I  says  to  myself, 
'Here's  Sam  done  gone  an'  hired  a  party  to  do  the  gettin' 
even.'  When  yuh  wanted  to  ride  for  me,  I  was  shore  of  it. 

"So  when  you  got  down  to  fix  yore  cinches  I  expected  to 
be  plugged  the  next  second,  an'  I  throwed  down  on  yuh. 
Yore  askin'  me  to  send  yore  hoss  an'  saddle  to  Johnny  Ram 
say  was  what  stopped  me.  I  knowed  if  Johnny  was  a  friend  o' 
yores  you  was  all  right.  So  I  sent  yuh  on,  an'  I  trailed  yuh 
clear  to  the  ranch.  If  you'd  turned  back  I'd  'a'  downed 
yuh.  But  yuh  didn't  turn  back. 

"Well,  after  I  seen  yuh  talkin'  to  Doubleday Shore; 

yuh  know  that  little  hill  about  half-a-mile  south?  I  was  on 
top  of  it  with  a  pair  of  field  glasses — after  I  seen  yuh  talkin' 
to  Doubleday,  I  moseyed  south  again  to  the  Cross-in-a-box." 

"Two  hundred  miles!"  exclaimed  Loudon. 

"About  that,"  said  Mackenzie,  easily,  quite  as  if  a  four- 
hundred-mile  ride  in  ten  days  were  an  afternoon  jaunt. 
"Yuh  see,  I  wanted  to  talk  to  Jack  Richie.  Didn't  want  to 
go  to  the  Bar  S  if  I  could  help  it.  Me  an'  Saltoun  never  did 
pull  together.  He  thinks  I'm  a  fool,  an'  I  know  he's  crazy. 

"Well,  I  talked  with  Jack,  an'  he  explained  everythin'. 
Said  who  yuh  was  an'  how  yuh'd  bought  yore  hoss  from  the 
88  an'  how  yuh'd  creased  Sam  Blakely,  an'  all.  That  was 
fine  work.  Too  bad  yuh  didn't  down  him  for  good.  He's  a 
varmint.  Worse'n  a  rattler.  Yuh'd  ought  to  'a'  plugged 


THE  AMAZING  MACKENZIE  79 

Marvin,  too,  after  him  tryin'  to  make  yuh  out  a  rustler  that- 
away.  A  sport  like  that'll  stand  shootin'  any  day.  What's 
the  matter?" 

For  Loudon  was  amazedly  staring  at  Mackenzie. 

"Four  hundred  miles  both  ways,"  said  the  puncher,  "to 
see  whether  a  forty-five-dollar-a-month  hand  was  tellin'  the 
truth!" 

"Yuh  was  more  than  a  hand,"  rejoined  Mackenzie,  with  a 
slight  smile.  "Yuh  was  opportunity,  with  a  big  O.  Yuh 
see,  when  yuh  asked  for  a  job  I  needed  a  man.  I  needed  him 
bad.  I  was  shore  yuh  was  out  to  down  me.  But  when  yuh 
said  yuh  knowed  Johnny  an'  I  changed  my  mind  about 
droppin'  yuh,  it  come  to  me,  provided  you  was  straight,  that 
you  was  just  the  feller  for  me.  You  was  sent  to  me,  like. 
You  was  Opportunity,  see? 

"An'  I  ain't  never  passed  up  an  opportunity  that  I  ain't 
been  sorry.  I'm  kind  o'  superstitious  thataway  now,  an'  I'll 
go  out  o'  my  way  to  grab  what  I  think  looks  like  an  oppor 
tunity.  I  knowed  I  couldn't  rest  easy  till  I  found  out  some- 
thin'  about  yuh.  So  I  done  it.  An'  I'm glad  I  done  it. 

"Doubleday  tells  me  yo're  the  best  roper  he  ever  seen,  an' 
yo're  a  wonder  with  the  stallions.  A  good  man  with  stallions 
is  somethin'  I've  wished  for  ever  since  I  owned  the  Flyin'  M. 
I  never  had  him  till  you  come.  Opportunity!  I  guess  yuh 
was,  an'  then  a  few.  Now  I  don't  know  whether  yuh  care 
about  stayin',  but  I  shore  hope  yuh  will.  I'll  see  that  yuh 
don't  regret  it." 

"Shore  I'll  stay,"  said  Loudon.  "Them  stallions  is  where 
I  live." 

"Then  fifty-five  a  month  goes  for  you  from  now  on." 

In  this  auspicious  fashion  began  Loudon 's  life  at  the  Flying 
M.  Yet  Loudon  was  not  precisely  happy.  The  cheerfulness 
induced  by  the  whole-hearted  Burrs  had  been  but  temporary. 
He  brooded  over  his  wrongs,  and  that  is  bad  for  a  man.  Like 
all  men  who  believe  themselves  hard  hit,  he  did  not  realize 
that  there  are  a  great  many  lonesome  ladies  in  the  world,  any 
one  of  whom  will  make  a  man  utterly  happy. 

One  young  woman  had  proved  to  be  an  arrant  flirt,  there- 


80  PARADISE  BEND 

fore  all  young  women  were  flirts,  and  beauty  was  a  snare 
and  a  delusion.  So  reasoned  Loudon.  Surrendering  almost 
wholly  to  his  mood,  he  rarely  took  part  in  the  general  conver 
sation  in  the  bunkhouse.  The  men  wondered  at  his  aloof 
ness,  but  none  essayed  to  draw  him  out.  His  smoldering  gray 
eyes  forbade  any  such  familiarity.  When  riding  the  range 
with  Laguerre,  however,  Loudon  would  emerge  from  his  shell, 
and  a  strong  friendship  swiftly  grew  up  between  the  two. 

One  day,  nearly  two  weeks  after  Mackenzie's  return  from 
the  Cross-in-a-box,  Loudon  was  in  the  blacksmith  shop  mak 
ing  a  set  of  shoes  for  Ranger  when  Pete  O'Leary  rode  up  to 
the  doorway  and  peered  in. 

"Hello,"  said  O'Leary,  cheerily.     "How's  tricks?" 

"Comin'  in  bunches,"  replied  Loudon,  shortly,  and  he  blew 
the  bellows  vigorously. 

"That's  good.  Hot,  ain't  it?  Well,  I  got  to  be  weavin' 
along.  So  long." 

Loudon  walked  to  the  doorway  and  watched  O'Leary  till 
he  disappeared  among  the  cottonwoods  fringing  the  bank  of 
the  Dogsoldier. 

"Now  I'd  admire  to  know,"  he  wondered,  "if  Pete  O'Leary 
stopped  here  just  to  ask  how  tricks  was.  He  kind  o'  looked 
at  yore  brand,  too,  fellah,"  he  added,  addressing  Ranger. 

Thoughtfully  he  returned  to  his  work.  Five  minutes  later 
he  whacked  his  knee  and  whistled.  Comprehension  had  at 
last  come  to  him.  He  marvelled  that  it  had  not  come  sooner. 

"Now,  why  didn't  I  think  o'  that  quicker?"  he  muttered. 
"  It  was  that  88  brand  on  Ranger's  hip  that  made  Scotty  sus 
picious.  So  it  was  that  brand  must  'a'  made  O'Leary  freeze 
to  me  when  I  sifted  into  the  Bend.  'Couldn't  Sam  come?' 
Sam  Blakely  o'  the  88!  An'  I  never  seen  it  till  just  now." 

The  moves  of  an  enemy  are  always  interesting.  Even 
more  thoughtfully  than  before,  Loudon  pumped  the  handle  of 
the  bellows.  Why  was  Blakely  coming  to  Paradise  Bend? 
To  settle  his  score  with  Scotty  Mackenzie?  Loudon  doubted 
it.  A  newly  engaged  man  does  not,  as  a  rule,  jeopardize  his 
future  happiness  by  reopening  old  issues. 


THE  AMAZING  MACKENZIE  81 

Whatever  the  precise  nature  of  Blakely's  purpose  might 
be,  it  was  dark  and  Machiavellian  in  the  main.  O'Leary's 
peculiar  actions  in  the  Three  Card  Saloon  evinced  as  much. 

"I  don't  see  how  it  could  have  any  thin'  to  do  with  me," 
puzzled  Loudon.  "Sam  couldn't  'a'  knowed  I  was  comin* 
to  the  Bend.  I  didn't  know  myself  till  just  before  I  started. 
Yet  here's  O'Leary  askin'  Telescope  about  me  an'  skirmishin' 
over  to  see  if  I  am  at  the  Flyin'  M.  It  shore  is  a  heap  mys 
terious." 

Loudon  decided  to  talk  it  over  with  Scotty  Mackenzie. 


CHAPTER    IX 

AUTHORS      OF       CONFUSION 

WHEN  Loudon  went  to  the  office  that  evening  he 
found  Doubleday  alone.  "Scotty's  gone,"  said 
Doubleday,  in  response  to  London's  question.  "  He's 
traipsin*  over  to  the  Seven  Lazy  Seven.  Wants  to  get  rid 
o'  some  of  our  no-account  stock." 

"When'llhebeback?" 

"Dunno.  He  may  take  in  the  Two  Bar,  Wagonwheel. 
T  V  TJ,  an'  the  Double  Diamond  K  before  he  comes  back, 
He  might  stay  away  a  week,  or  three  weeks,  or  a  month. 
Yuh  can't  keep  tabs  on  Scotty.  I  tried  to  once,  but  I  give 
it  up  long  ago." 

Loudon  did  not  take  the  garrulous  Doubleday  into  his 
confidence.  Nor  did  he  mention  the  matter  to  Laguerre. 
The  half-breed  had  seen  O'Leary  ride  up  to  the  blacksmith 
shop,  and  his  Gallic  curiosity  was  aroused  to  the  full. 

"My  frien',"  said  Laguerre,  when  Loudon  and  he  were 
mending  a  break  in  the  corral  fence  the  following  day,  "my 
frien',  I  wan'  for  tell  you  somethin'.  Somethin'  mabbeso  you 
not  see.  Yes'erday  O'Leary  she  come  to  de  ranch;  she  go  to 
de  blacksmith  shop.  I  see  heem  before  she  go  to  de  black 
smith  shop.  I  see  heem  aftair.  Before  she  see  you  dere  een 
de  shop  hees  face  was  de  face  of  de  man  who  ees  not  satisfy, 
who  ees  hunt  for  somethin'.  Wen  I  see  heem  aftair,  she 
look  satisfy.  She  has  foun' w'at  she  hunt  for.  Are  you  me?" 

Loudon  nodded. 

"O'Leary's  takin'  a  heap  o*  trouble  on  my  account,"  he 
said,  slowly. 

"More  dan  I  t'ought  she  would,"  vouchsafed  Laguerre. 
"I  tell  you,  Tom,  she  have  not  de  good  feelin'  for  you. 
Were  ees  dat  damn  hammair  gone?" 


AUTHORS  OF  CONFUSION  83 

Three  weeks  later,  Loudon  and  Laguerre  were  lazily  en 
joying  the  cool  of  the  evening  outside  the  door  of  the  bunk- 
house  when  Doubleday  came  striding  toward  them.  In  one 
hand  the  foreman  waved  a  letter.  He  appeared  to  be  an 
noyed.  He  was. 

"Tom,  Scotty  wants  yuh  to  meet  him  at  the  Bend  Tuesday 
— that's  to-morrow,"  said  Doubleday,  crossly.  "  Yuh'll  find 

him  at  the  Three  Card.  it  to !  An*  I  wanted  you 

an'  Telescope  to  ride  the  north  range  to-morrow !  Which  that 
Scotty  Mackenzie  is  shore  the  most  unexpected  gent!  Says 
he  wants  yuh  to  ride  yore  own  hoss.  Dunno  what  he  wants 
yuh  for.  He  don't  say.  Just  says  meet  him." 

Doubleday  departed,  swearing. 

"Pore  old  Doubleday,"  drawled  a  bristle-haired  youth 
named  Swing  Tunstall.  "He  gets  a  heap  displeased  with 
Scotty  sometimes." 

"Scotty  ain't  just  regular  in  his  ways,"  commented  Giant 
Morton,  a  dwarfish  man  with  tremendously  long  arms. 
"Scotty  wasn't  goin'  beyond  the  Wagonwheel,  if  he  got  that 
far,  an'  his  letter  was  mailed  in  Rocket,  fifty  miles  south. 
I  brought  her  in  from  the  Bend  this  aft 'noon,  an'  I  noticed  the 
postmark  special." 

"He  wears  the  raggedest  clo'es  I  ever  seen,"  said  the  cook. 
"An'  he's  got  money,  too." 

"Money!"  exclaimed  Morton.  "He's  lousy  with  money. 
Wish  I  had  it.  Do  yuh  know  what  I'd  do?  I'd  buy  me  a 
seventeen-hand  hoss  an'  a  saloon." 

"I  wouldn't,"  said  Loudon,  winking  at  Laguerre.  "I'd 
have  a  hacienda  down  in  old  Mexico,  an'  I'd  hire  half-a-dozen 
good-lookin'  senoritas  with  black  hair  an'  blue  eyes  to  play 
tunes  for  me  on  banjos,  an'  I'd  hire  cookie  here  to  come  an* 
wake  me  up  every  mornin'  at  five  o'clock  just  so's  I  could 
have  the  pleasure  o'  heavin'  him  out  o'  the  window  an'  goin' 
back  to  sleep." 

By  which  it  may  be  seen  that  the  moody  Loudon  was  be 
coming  more  human.  His  remarks  irritated  the  cook,  who 
rather  fancied  himself.  He  allowed  himself  to  be  the  more 
provoked  because  of  a  growing  belief  that  London's  habitually 


84  PARADISE  BEND 

retiring  and  inoffensive  manner  denoted  a  lack  of  mettle. 
Which  mental  attitude  was  shared  by  none  of  the  others. 

At  London's  careless  words  the  cook  bounced  up  from  his 
seat  on  the  doorsill  and  assumed  a  crouching  position  in  front 
of  Loudon. 

"Yuh  couldn't  throw  nothin'!"  yapped  the  man  of  pots 
and  pans.  "Yuh  couldn't  throw  a  fit,  let  alone  me!  An'  I 
want  yuh  to  understand  I  can  throw  any  bowlegged  misfit  that 
ever  wore  hair  pants!" 

"What  did  yuh  throw  'em  with — yore  mouth?"  inquired 
Loudon,  gently. 

The  Lazy  River  man  had  not  moved  from  his  seat  on  the 
washbench.  His  arms  remained  folded  across  his  chest. 
He  smiled  pleasantly  at  the  irate  cook. 

"I  throwed  'em  like  I'm  goin'  to  throw  you!"  frothed  the 
hot-tempered  one.  "That  is,"  he  added,  sneeringly,  "if  yuh 
ain't  afraid." 

The  bristle-haired  Tunstall  sprang  between  the  two. 

"Don't  mind  him,  Loudon!"  he  cried.  "He's  only  a  fool 
idjit,  but  he's  a  good  cook,  an'  losin'  him  would  be  a  calamity. 
He  don't  never  pack  no  gun  neither." 

"I  can  see  he  ain't  heeled,"  said  Loudon,  calmly.  "But 
he  shore  talks  just  like  a  regular  man,  don't  he?" 

"Regular  man!"  bellowed  the  cook.     "Why " 

The  sentence  ended  in  a  gurgle.  For  Tunstall,  Morton,  and 
Laguerre  had  hurled  themselves  upon  the  cook  and  gagged 
him  with  the  crown  of  a  hat. 

"Ain't  yuh  got  no  sense  at  all?"  growled  Morton. 

"'Tsall  right,"  grinned  Loudon,  rising  to  his  feet.  "I 
understand.  Turn  yore  bull  loose." 

The  three  doubtfully  released  the  cook.  That  misguided 
man  promptly  lowered  his  head,  spread  wide  his  arms,  and 
charged  at  Loudon.  The  puncher  sidestepped  neatly  and 
gave  the  cook's  head  a  smart  downward  shove  with  the  palm 
of  his  hand.  The  cook's  face  plowed  the  earth. 

Spitting  dirt  and  gravel  he  scrambled  up  and  plunged 
madly  at  his  elusive  adversary.  This  time  Loudon  did  not 
budge. 


AUTHORS  OF  CONFUSION  85 

Even  as  the  cook  gripped  him  round  the  waist  Loudon 
leaned  forward  along  the  cook's  back,  seized  the  slack  of  his 
trousers,  and  up-ended  him.  The  cook's  hold  was  broken,  and 
again  his  head  collided  violently  with  the  ground.  He  fell  in 
a  huddle,  but  arose  instantly,  his  stubborn  spirit  unshaken. 
Now  he  did  not  rush.  He  approached  the  puncher  warily. 

Swaying  on  his  high  heels  Loudon  waited.  Then 
run,  with  a  pantherlike  leap,  he  flung  himself  forward, 
drove  both  arms  beneath  those  of  the  cook  and  clipped 
him  round  the  body.  The  cook  strove  for  a  strangle-hold, 
but  Loudon  forestalled  the  attempt  by  hooking  his  chin 
over  his  opponent's  shoulder.  Legs  apart,  Loudon  lifted 
and  squeezed. 

Gradually,  as  Loudon  put  forth  all  his  great  strength,  the 
breath  of  the  cook  was  expelled  from  his  cracking  chest  in 
gasps  and  wheezes.  His  muscles  relaxed,  his  face  became 
distorted,  empurpled. 

Loudon  released  his  grip.  The  cook  fell  limply  and  lay 
on  his  back,  arms  outspread,  his  crushed  lungs  fighting  for 
air.  In  the  struggle  his  shirt  had  been  ripped  across,  and  now 
his  chest  and  one  shoulder  were  exposed.  Loudon,  gazing 
down  at  the  prostrate  man,  started  slightly,  then  stooped  and 
looked  more  closely  at  the  broad  triangle  of  breast. 

Abruptly  Loudon  turned  away  and  resumed  his  seat  on 
the  bench.  After  a  time  the  cook  rolled  over,  staggered  to 
his  feet,  and  reeled  into  the  bunkhouse  without  a  word. 

No  one  commented  on  the  wrestling-match.  Swing  Tun- 
stall  started  a  cheerful  reminiscence  of  his  last  trip  to  the 
Bend.  Laguerre  rose  and  passed  silently  round  the  corner 
of  the  bunkhouse.  Loudon,  chin  on  hand,  stared  off  into 
the  distance. 

Suddenly,  within  the  bunkhouse,  there  was  the  thump 
of  feet  followed  in  quick  succession  by  a  thud  and  a  grunt. 
Out  through  the  doorway  the  cook  tumbled  headlong,  fell 
flat,  and  lay  motionless,  his  nose  in  the  dirt,  his  boot-toes 
on  the  doorsill.  One  outflung  hand  still  clutched  the  butt  of 
a  six-shooter.  From  a  gash  on  the  back  of  his  head  the  blood 
oozed  slowly. 


86  PARADISE  BEND 

Issued  then  Laguerre  from  the  doorway.  The  half-breed 
was  in  his  stocking  feet.  He  wrenched  the  gun  from  the 
cook's  fingers,  stuffed  the  weapon  into  the  waistband  of  his 
trousers,  and  squatted  down  on  his  heels. 

None  of  the  onlookers  had  moved.  Gravely  they  regarded 
Laguerre  and  the  cook.  London  realized  that  he  had  nar 
rowly  escaped  being  shot  in  the  back.  A  farce  had  developed 
into  melodrama. 

At  this  juncture  Doubleday  strolled  leisurely  out  of  the 
office.  At  sight  of  the  fallen  man  and  the  serious  group  at 
the  bunkhouse  he  quickened  his  steps. 

"Who  done  it?"  demanded  Doubleday,  severely,  for  he 
believed  the  cook  to  be  dead. 

"I  heet  heem  on  de  head  wit'  my  gun,"  explained  Laguerre. 
"Loudon  she  t'row  de  cook.  De  cook  she  geet  varree  mad 
un  go  een  de  bunkhouse.  I  t'ink  mabbeso  she  do  somethin* 
un  I  go  roun'  de  bunkhouse,  tak'  off  my  boots,  un  crawl  een 
de  side  window.  De  cook  she  was  jus*  run  for  door  wit'  hees 
gun  een  hees  han'.  I  stop  heem." 

Complacently  Laguerre  gazed  upon  the  still  unconscious 
cook. 

"The  kyote ! "  exclaimed  Doubleday.  " That's  what  comes 

o'  not  havin'  any  sense  o'  humour!  his  soul!  Now  I 

got  to  fire  him.  Trouble!  Trouble!  Nothin'  but  " 

The  discouraged  foreman  slumped  down  beside  Loudon 
and  rolled  a  cigarette  with  vicious  energy. 

Some  ten  minutes  later  the  cook  stirred,  rolled  over,  and 
sat  up.  He  stared  with  dull  eyes  at  the  men  on  the  bench. 
Stupidly  he  fingered  the  cut  at  the  back  of  his  head.  As 
deadened  senses  revived  and  memory  returned,  his  back 
stiffened,  and  defiance  blazed  up  in  his  eyes. 

"Telescope,"  said  Loudon,  "I'd  take  it  as  a  favour  if  yuh'd 
give  him  his  gun — an'  his  cartridges." 

The  cook  lost  his  defiant  look  when  the  half-breed  complied 
with  Loudon's  request.  Helplessly  he  eyed  the  gun  a  mo 
ment,  then,  struck  with  a  bright  idea,  he  waggled  his  right 
wrist  and  grimaced  as  if  with  pain.  Gingerly  he  rubbed  the 
wrist-bone. 


AUTHORS  OF  CONFUSION  87 

"Sprained  my  wrist,"  he  stated  brazenly.  "Can't  shoot 
with  aiy  left  hand  nohow.  If  I  could,  I'd  shore  enjoy  finishin' 
up.  Helluva  note  this  is!  I  start  for  to  shoot  it  out  with  a 
gent,  an'  one  o'  you  sports  whangs  me  over  the  head  an'  lays 
me  out.  I'd  admire  to  know  which  one  o'  yuh  done  it." 

"I  done  eet,"  Laguerre  informed  him,  his  white  teeth 
flashing  under  his  black  mustache. 

"I'll  remember  yuh,"  said  the  cook  with  dignity.  "I'll 
remember  you  too,"  he  added  looking  at  Loudon.  "Double- 
day,  I'd  like  my  time.  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  cook  for  this  bunch 
no  longer.  An'  if  it's  all  the  same  to  you  I'll  take  a  hoss  for 
part  o'  my  pay." 

"Well,  by !"  exclaimed  Doubleday,  hugely  annoyed 

at  being  thus  forestalled.  "You've  got  a  nerve.  You  ought 
to  be  hung!" 

"Any  gent  does  who  works  for  the  Flying  M,"  countered 
the  cook.  "  But  I'm  quittin'.  Do  I  get  the  hoss ! " 

"Yuh  bet  yuh  do.     An'  yo're  hittin'  the  trail  to-night." 

"The  sooner  the  quicker." 

Within  half  an  hour  Rufe  Cutting,  erstwhile  cook  at  the 
Flying  M,  a  bandage  under  his  hat,  mounted  his  horse  and 
rode  away  toward  Paradise  Bend.  As  he  vanished  in  the 
gathering  dusk,  Swing  Tunstall  laughed  harshly. 

"All  yaller  an'  a  yard  wide!"  observed  Giant  Morton,  and 
spat  contemptuously. 

Loudon  made  no  comment.  He  was  working  out  a  puzzle, 
and  he  was  making  very  little  headway. 

In  the  morning  he  saddled  Ranger  and  started  for  the  Bend. 
He  followed  the  trail  for  a  mile  or  two,  then,  fording  the  Dog- 
soldier,  he  struck  across  the  flats  where  a  few  of  Mackenzie's 
horses  grazed.  He  did  not  turn  his  horse's  head  toward 
Paradise  Bend  till  the  Dogsoldier  was  well  out  of  rifle-range. 
London's  caution  was  pardonable.  Rufe  Cutting  knew  that 
he  was  to  ride  to  the  Bend,  and  Rufe  had  a  rifle.  Loudon  had 
marked  him  tying  it  in  his  saddle-strings. 

It  was  quite  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that  the  cun 
ning  Rufe  was  at  that  very  moment  lying  in  wait  somewhere 


88  PARADISE  BEND 

among  the  cottonwoods  on  the  bank  of  the  Dogsoldier,  for 
the  trail  in  many  places  swung  close  to  the  creek.  Decidedly, 
the  trail  was  no  fit  route  for  any  one  at  odds  with  a  citizen  of 
the  Cutting  stamp. 

London,  when  he  drew  near  the  Bend,  circled  back  to  the 
creek  and  entered  the  town  by  the  Farewell  trail. 

He  dismounted  in  front  of  the  Three  Card,  anchored  Ranger 
to  the  ground,  and  went  into  the  saloon.  Several  men  were 
standing  at  the  bar.  They  ceased  talking  at  his  entrance. 

Loudon  leaned  both  elbows  on  the  bar  and  demanded 
liquor.  He  sensed  a  certain  tenseness,  a  vague  chill  in  the 
atmosphere.  The  bartender,  his  eyes  looking  anywhere 
but  at  Loudon,  served  him  hastily.  The  bartender  seemed 
nervous.  Bottle  and  glass  rattled  as  he  placed  them  on  the 
bar. 

"Scotty  Mackenzie  come  in  yet?"  inquired  Loudon  of  the 
bartender,  setting  down  his  empty  glass. 

"N-no,"  quavered  the  bartender,  shrilly.  "I  ain't  seen 
him." 

Loudon  stared  at  the  bartender.  What  was  the  matter 
with  the  man?  His  face  was  the  colour  of  gray  wrapping- 
paper.  Loudon  turned  and  glanced  along  the  bar  at  the 
other  customers.  Two  of  them  were  regarding  him,  a  rapt 
fascination  in  their  expressions.  Swiftly  the  two  men 
averted  their  eyes. 

Loudon  hesitated  an  instant,  then  he  wheeled  and  walked 
out  of  the  saloon.  As  he  crossed  the  sidewalk  he  noticed  a 
group  of  men  standing  near  by.  He  stooped  to  pick  up  his 
reins.  When  he  straightened  there  was  a  sudden  rustle  and 
a  whisk  in  his  rear.  Something  settled  over  his  shoulders 
and  drew  taut,  pinning  his  arms  to  his  sides. 

"What  in "  swore  Loudon,  and  began  to  struggle 

furiously. 

He  was  at  once  jerked  over  on  his  back.  He  fell  heavily. 
The  shock  partially  stunned  him.  Dazedly  he  gazed  upward 
into  a  ring  of  faces.  The  features  of  all  save  one  were  blurred. 
And  that  face  was  the  face  of  Block,  the  Sheriff  of  Fort  Creek 
County. 


AUTHORS  OF  CONFUSION  89 

Loudon  felt  a  tugging  at  his  belt  and  knew  that  one  was 
removing  his  six-shooter.  He  was  pulled  upright,  his  hands 
were  wrenched  together,  and  before  he  was  aware  of  what  was 
taking  place,  his  wrists  were  in  handcuffs.  Now  his  faculties 
returned  with  a  rush. 

"What  seems  to  be  the  trouble,  anyway?"  he  demanded 
of  the  crowd  in  general. 

"It  seems  yo're  a  hoss  thief,"  replied  a  brown-bearded  man 
wearing  a  star  on  the  left  lapel  of  his  vest. 

"Who  says  so?" 

"This  gent."    The  brown-bearded  man  pointed  at  Block. 

"It's  no  good  talkin',  Loudon,"  said  Block,  grinning  after 
the  fashion  of  the  cat  which  has  just  eaten  the  canary.  "I 
know  yuh.  Yuh  stole  that  hoss  yo're  ridin'  from  the  8& 
ranch.  There's  the  brand  to  prove  it.  But  that  ain't  all. 
Yuh  was  caught  rustlin'  88  cows.  Yuh  branded  'em  Crossed 
Dumbbell.  An*  yuh  got  away  by  shootin'  Sam  Blakely,  an* 
holdin'  up  Marvin  an'  Rudd.  I  don't  guess  yuh'll  get  away 
now  in  a  hurry." 

"Where's  yore  warrant?" 

"Don't  need  no  warrant." 

"That's  right,"  corroborated  the  brown-bearded  man  with 
the  star.  "Yuh  don't  need  no  warrant  for  a  hoss-thief  an'  a 
rustler.  I  tell  yuh,  stranger,  yo're  lucky  to  be  still  alive. 
I'm  doin'  yuh  a  favour  by  lettin*  yuh  go  south  with  Sheriff 
Block.  By  rights  yuh'd  ought  to  be  lynched  instanter." 

"Yuh  don't  say,"  said  Loudon,  gently,  "Who  are  yuh,, 
anyway?" 

"Oh,  I'm  only  the  marshal  here  at  the  Bend/*  replied  with 
sarcasm  the  brown-bearded  man.  "My  name's  Smith — 
Dan  Smith.  Yuh  might  'a'  heard  o'  me." 

"Shore,  I've  heard  o'  yuh,  an'  I'd  understood  yuh  was  a 
party  with  sense  an'  not  in  the  habit  o*  believin'  everythin* 
yuh  hear.  Now " 

"Yuh  understood  right,"  said  the  marshal,  drily.  "I'm 
listenin*  to  yuh  now,  an'  I  don't  believe  everythin'  I  hear." 

"Yo're  believin'  Block,  an*  he's  the  biggest  liar  in  Fort 
Creek  County,  an*  that's  sayin'  quits  ft  lot*  seem'  as  how  the 


90  PARADISE  BEND 

88  outfit  belongs  in  Fort  Creek.  Now  I  never  branded  no 
88  cows.  The  88,  because  they  knowed  I  knowed  they'd 
been  brandin'  other  folks'  cattle,  went  an'  branded  a  cow  an' 
a  calf  o'  their  own  with  the  Crossed  Dumbbell  an'  then  tried 
to  throw  the  blame  on  me.  But  the  trick  didn't  pan  out. 
They  couldn't  prove  it  nohow.  Jack  Richie  o*  the  Cross-in- 
a-box  can  tell  yuh  I  didn't  rustle  them  cattle.'* 

"I  thought  yuh  was  workin'  for  the  Bar  S,"  put  in  the 
marshal. 

"I  was,  but  I  quit." 

"Then  why  wouldn't  Saltoun  o'  the  Bar  S  know  all  about 
it?  What  did  yuh  say  Jack  Richie  for?" 

The  marshal  drooped  a  wise  eyelid.  He  considered  him 
self  a  most  astute  cross-examiner. 

"  I  said  Jack  Richie  because  he  was  there  at  the  Bar  S  when 
Marvin  an'  Rudd  drove  in  the  cow  an'  the  calf.  It  was  him 
proved  I  couldn't  'a'  branded  them  cattle  like  they  said  I  did." 

"Why  wouldn't  Saltoun  o'  the  Bar  S  speak  for  yuh?"  in 
quired  the  marshal. 

"He  would,  I  guess,"  replied  London.  "Old  Salt  an'  me 
don't  just  hitch,  but  he's  square.  He'd  tell  yuh  about  it." 

"He  won't  tell  me.  The  Bar  S  an'  the  Cross-in-a-box  are 
more'n  two  hundred  miles  south.  I  ain't  ridin'  that  far  to 
get  yore  pedigree.  No,  yuh  can  just  bet  I  ain't.  This  gent 
here,  Sheriff  Block,  will  take  yuh  south.  If  it's  like  yuh 
say  it  is,  then  yuh  needn't  worry  none.  Yuh'll  have  yore 
witnesses  an'  all  right  there." 

"  Don't  yuh  understand?  I'll  never  see  none  o'  my  friends. 
The  88  outfit  will  lynch  me  soon  as  ever  I  hit  Farewell.  I  tell 
yuh  I  know  too  much  about  'em.  They  want  me  out  o'  the 
way." 

Before  the  marshal  could  reply  there  was  a  bustle  in  the 
crowd,  and  a  high-pitched  feminine  voice  inquired  what  evil 
was  being  visited  upon  Mr.  London.  An  instant  later  Mrs. 
Burr,  barearmed  and  perspiring,  unceremoniously  pushed 
Block  to  one  side  and  confronted  the  marshal. 

"  What  yuh  doin'  to  him?  "  she  demanded,  with  a  quick  jerk 
of  her  head  toward  Loudon. 


AUTHORS  OF  CONFUSION  91 

"Why,  Mis'  Burr,  ma'am,"  replied  the  marshal,  ''he's  a 
hoss  thief,  an'  he's  goin'  south  to  Farewell." 

"He  ain't  goin'  to  Farewell,"  retorted  Mrs.  Burr,  "an'  he 
ain't  a  hoss  thief.  Who  says  so?" 

"I  do,  ma'am,"  said  Block,  stepping  forward.  "He's  a 
hoss  thief,  an' " 

"Hoss  thief  yoreself!"  snapped  Mrs.  Burr,  wheeling  on 
Block  so  fiercely  that  the  sheriff  gave  ground  involuntarily. 
"The  more  I  look  at  yuh  the  more  yuh  look  like  a  hoss  thief 
an'  a  rustler  an'  a  road  agent.  You  shut  up,  Dan  Smith!  I 
always  guessed  yuh  was  an  idjit,  an'  now  I  know  it!  This 
man,  Mr.  Tom  Loudon,  is  a  friend  o'  my  husband's.  I  know 
him  well,  an'  if  yuh  think  yo're  goin'  to  string  him  up  for  a 
hoss  thief  yo're  mistaken." 

"But,  ma'am,"  explained  the  unhappy  marshal,  "we  ain't 
a-goin'  to  string  him  up.  This  gent,  Sheriff  Block,  is  takin' 
1  im  south.  He'll  get  justice  down  there,  Mis'  Burr." 

"Will  he?  If  the  folks  down  there  are  as  witless  as  you  are 
he  won't.  Justice !  Yuh  make  me  plumb  weary !  Did  yuh 
ask  to  see  this  Block  man's  warrant?  Answer  me!  Did 

you?" 

"He  ain't  got  no  warrant,"  replied  the  marshal  in  a  small 
voice. 

"Ain't  got  no  warrant!"  screamed  Mrs.  Burr.  "Ain't  got 
no  warrant,  an'  yo're  lettin'  him  take  away  a  party  on  just 
his  say-so!  Dan  Smith,  since  when  have  yuh  allowed  a 
stranger  to  come  in  an'  tell  you  what  to  do?  What  right  has 
this  Block  man  from  Fort  Creek  County  to  try  an'  run  Para 
dise  Bend,  I'd  like  to  know?  " 

"I  ain't  tryin'  to  run  the  Bend,"  defended  Block.  "I 
wouldn't  think  o'  such  a  thing.  But  I  want  this  hoss  thief, 
an'  I  mean  to  have  him." 

The  words  had  barely  passed  Block's  teeth  when  London's 
self-control  broke.  With  an  inarticulate  howl  of  rage  he 
sprang  at  Block  and  drove  the  iron  manacles  into  the  sheriff's 
face. 

Down  went  Block  with  Loudon  on  top  of  him.  Twice, 
three  times,  before  Dan  Smith  and  two  others  pulled  him  up 


92  PARADISE  BEND 

and  away,  Loudon  smashed  the  handcuffs  home.  It  was  a 
bloody-faced,  teeth-spitting  sheriff  that  got  slowly  to  his  feet. 

"By !"  gibbered  Block.  "By !  I'll  down  you 

here  an*  now!" 

A  tall  man  with  square  features  tapped  the  raving  sheriff 
on  the  shoulder. 

"Don't  cuss  no  more  before  a  lady,"  advised  the  square- 
featured  man.  "An*  don't  godraggin'  at  no  gun.  This  ain't 
Fort  Creek  County.  Yo're  in  Paradise  Bend,  an' J  just  guess 
yuh  won't  beef  any  sport  with  his  hands  tied.  This  goes  as 
it  lays." 

From  the  crowd  came  murmurs  of  approval.  Public  opin 
ion  was  changing  front.  Mrs.  Burr  smiled  serenely. 

"Yo're  a  real  gent,  Jim  Mace,"  she  said,  addressing  the 
square-featured  man.  "I  always  knowed  you'd  protect  a 
defenseless  female.  Dan  Smith,"  she  continued,  turning  to 
the  marshal,  "unlock  them  handcuffs." 

Dan  Smith  hesitated.  Then  Block  spoiled  his  own  case. 
He  seized  Loudon  by  the  shoulders.  Loudon  promptly 
kicked  him  in  the  skins  and  endeavoured  to  repeat  his  former 
assault  with  the  handcuffs.  But  the  two  men  holding  him 
wrestled  him  backward. 

"Do  I  get  him?"  bellowed  Block,  rabid  with  pain,  for  Lou 
don  had  kicked  him  with  all  "his  strength.  "Do  I  get  him, 
or  are  yuh  goin'  to  let  a  woman  tell  yuh  what  to  do?" 

Jim  Mace  stepped  close  to  the  sheriff. 

"Stranger,"  said  Mace,  sharply,  "you've  done  chattered 
enough.  In  yore  own  partic'lar  hog-waller  yuh  may  be  a 
full-size  toad,  but  up  here  yo're  half  o'  nothin'.  Under 
stand?" 

"The  sheriff  looked  about  him  wildly.  The  Paradise 
Benders,  cold,  unfriendly,  some  openly  hostile,  stared  back. 
Wrought  up  though  he  was,  the  sheriff  had  wit  enough  to  per 
ceive  that  he  was  treading  close  to  the  edge  of  a  volcano. 
The  sheriff  subsided. 

"Dan,"  said  Mace,  "it's  come  to  a  show-down.  It's  the 
word  o'  Mis'  Burr  agin'  Block's.  There's  only  one  answer. 
If  I  was  you  I'd  unlock  them  handcuffs." 


AUTHORS  OF  CONFUSION  93 

"Yo're  right,  Jim,"  agreed  the  marshal     "I  will." 

"Gimme  my  gun,"  demanded  London,  when  his  hands 
were  free. 

"In  a  minute,"  parried  the  marshal.  "Sheriff,  if  I  was 
you  Fd  hit  the  trail.  Yore  popularity  ain't  more'n  deuce- 
high  just  now." 

"I'll  go,"  glowered  Block.  "But  Til  be  back.  An' when 
I  come  I'll  have  a  warrant.  I  reckon  the  Sheriff  o'  Sunset  will 
honour  it,  even  if  you  won't." 

"Bring  on  yore  warrant,"  retorted  the  marshal. 

The  rumble  of  wheels  and  thud  of  hoofs  attracted  London's 
attention.  Over  the  heads  of  the  crowd  he  saw  the  high 
sides  of  a  tarpaulin-covered  wagon  and,  sitting  on  the  driver's 
seat,  Captain  Benjamin  Burr  and  Scotty  Mackenzie. 

"Hi,  Cap'n  Burr.     Hi,  Scotty!"  shouted  London. 

"Where  are  they?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Burr,  her  harsh  features 
lighting  up.  "Oh,  there  they  are!  You  Benjamin  Burr, 
come  right  in  here  this  instant.  Yore  wife  wants  yore 
help!" 

Captain  Burr  swayed  back  on  the  reins.  Dragging  a 
sawed-off  shotgun  he  hopped  to  the  ground,  Scotty  Macken 
zie  at  his  heels.  The  crowd  made  way  for  them.  Captain 
Burr  swept  his  hat  off  and  bowed  ceremoniously  to  his  wife. 

"My  love,"  said  he,  "in  what  way  may  I  assist  you?" 

"That  party,"  sniffed  Mrs.  Burr,  levelling  a  long  forefinger 
at  the  wretched  Block,  "comes  up  an'  accuses  Mr.  Tom  Lou- 
don  here  o'  bein'  a  rustler  an'  a  hoss  thief.  Says  he's  been 
brandin'  88  cows  an'  that  he  stole  that  chestnut  hoss  yonder." 

The  sawed-off  shotgun,  an  eight-gauge  Greener,  covered 
Block's  belt  buckle. 

"Suh,  you  lie,"  said  Burr,  simply. 

"What  did  I  tell  all  you  folks?"  cried  Mrs.  Burr,  triumph 
antly. 

Block  made  no  attempt  to  draw.  He  folded  his  arms  and 
glared  ferociously.  He  found  glaring  difficult,  for  he  knew 
that  he  did  not  look  in  the  least  ferocious. 

"I'm  doin'  my  duty,"  he  said,  sullenly. 

"Gentlemen  all,  I'd  like  some  show  in  this,"  pleaded  Lou- 


94  PARADISE  BEND 

don.  "Just  gimme  back  my  gun,  an'  me  an'  Block'Il  shoot 
it  out/' 

"Wait  a  shake,"  said  Scotty,  sliding  between  Loudon  and 
Block.  "Let  me  get  the  straight  of  this.  You  accuse  Lou 
don  here  of  brandin'  88  cattle?" 

"Shore,"  insisted  the  stubborn  Block,  "an*  he  stole  that 
chestnut  hoss  he's  ridin',  too.  Just  look  at  the  88  brand. 
It's  plain  as  day." 

"Suh,"  burst  out  Burr,  "I  happened  to  be  at  the  88  ranch 
the  day  my  friend  Tom  Loudon  bought  that  chestnut  hoss. 
J  saw  him  pay  Blakely.  Everybody  in  Fo't  Creek  County 
knows  that  Tom  Loudon  has  owned  that  hoss  fo'  upwa'ds  of  a 
yeah.  You  know  it,  you  rascal!  Don't  attempt  to  deny 
it!" 

To  this  sweeping  assertion  Block  made  no  reply. 

"I  guess  now  that  settles  half  the  cat-hop,"  said  Scotty. 
"The  other  half  I  know  somethin'  about  myself.  Jack 
Richie  o'  the  Cross-in-a-box  told  me.  It  was  thisaway " 

And  Scotty  related  the  tale  of  Marvin  and  Rudd  and  the 
Crossed  Dumbbell  cow  and  calf. 

"Now  what  yuh  got  to  say?"  Scotty  demanded  of  Block 
when  the  story  was  told. 

"What  can  I  do?"  snapped  Block.  "It's  a  whole  town 
agin'  one  man.  I'll  get  a  warrant,  an'  yuh  can  gamble  on  that. 
If  I  thought  I'd  get  a  square  deal,  I'd  admire  to  shoot  it  out." 

"Gimme  my  gun,"  begged  Loudon.  "Gimme  it,  or  lend 
me  one,  somebody.  He  wants  to  shoot  it  out." 

"No,"  said  Scotty,  firmly,  "it's  gone  beyond  shootin'. 
Block  knowed  you  was  innocent.  He  couldn't  help  knowin* 
it.  He  tried  to  work  such  a  sneakin',  low-down  trick  that 
killin'  don't  seem  to  fit  somehow.  He'd  ought  to  be  rode  on  a 
rail  or  buried  up  to  his  neck  or  somethin'." 

"Tar  an'  feather  him,"  suggested  Mrs.  Burr. 

"We  ain't  got  no  tar,"  said  Jim  Mace,  "an'  there  ain't  a 
chicken  in  the  place." 

"There's  molasses  an'  goose-hair  quilts  in  the  Chicago 
Store,"  said  Mrs.  Burr,  helpfully.  "What  more  do  yuh 
want?" 


AUTHORS  OF  CONFUSION  95 

Molasses  and  feathers!  Here  was  an  extravagant  jape! 
Block's  hand  swept  downward.  But  no  smooth  revolver- 
butt  met  his  clutching  fingers.  A  far-seeing  soul  had,  in  the 
confusion,  adroitly  removed  the  sheriff's  six-shooter. 

In  all  seriousness  the  men  of  Paradise  Bend  set  about  their 
work.  They  saw  no  humour  in  the  shriekingly  grotesque 
business.  Sheriff  Block  essayed  to  struggle.  But  Scotty 
and  other  leading  citizens  attached  themselves  to  his  arms 
and  legs  and  pulled  him  down  and  sat  upon  him. 

When  one  came  running  with  a  five-gallon  jug  of  molasses 
Block,  uttering  strange  cries,  was  spread-eagled.  From  his 
forehead  to  his  feet  the  molasses  was  thickly  applied.  When 
the  front  of  him  had  been  thoroughly  daubed,  he  was  rolled 
over  upon  a  ripped-up  quilt — this  so  that  none  of  the  molasses 
might  be  wasted — and  a  fresh  jug  was  brought  into  play. 

Dripping  like  a  buckwheat  cake,  writhing  in  an  agony  of 
shame,  Block  was  rolled  up  in  the  quilt.  Then  the  quilt  was 
torn  away  and  men  showered  upon  him  the  contents  of  other 
quilts.  The  Paradise  Benders  used  up  ten  gallons  of  mo 
lasses  and  three  quilts  on  Block,  and  they  made  a  complete 
job.  Awful  was  the  wreck  that  staggered  down  the  street. 

Somehow  the  sheriff  contrived  to  reach  the  stable  where  he 
had  left  his  horse,  and  somehow — for  his  movements  were  the 
movements  of  one  far  gone  in  drink — he  threw  on  the  saddle 
and  passed  the  cinch-straps.  Mounting  with  difficulty,  he 
rode  away.  None  offered  to  molest  him  further. 


CHAPTER    X 

THE      HORSE      THIEF 

CLJDON,  who  had  taken  no  part  in  the  feathering,  watched 
the  departure  of  the  sheriff  with  brooding  eyes.  He 
did  not  agree  with  Scotty  Mackenzie  and  the  citizens 
of  the  Bend.  In  his  estimation  the  punishment  had  not  been 
sufficiently  drastic.  Alive  and  in  possession  of  all  his  faculties 
the  sheriff  was  a  great  power  for  evil.  He  would  seek  re 
venge. 

Loudon  swore  softly.  He  was  far  from  being  a  blood 
thirsty  man,  but  he  regarded  the  killing  of  Block  as  a  duty. 
And  he  did  not  believe  in  putting  off  till  some  future  date 
what  could  be  accomplished  to-day. 

"It's  quite  a  list/*  he  said  to  himself.  "Block,  Rufe 
Cutting,  Blakely,  an*  the  whole  88  outfit.  An'  they  won't 
be  happy  till  they  get  me.  It  kind  o'  looks  as  if  Blakely 
ain't  expectin*  to  keep  our  little  engagement  in  Farewell. 
Block  wouldn't  'a'  come  up  here  without  Blakely  sent 
him." 

Thoughts  of  Blakely  quite  naturally  induced  thoughts  of 
Pete  O'Leary.  Where  was  O'Leary?  Loudon  recollected 
that  he  had  not  seen  O'Leary  in  the  crowd.  He  looked  up 
and  down  the  street.  O'Leary  was  nowhere  in  sight.  His 
absence  was  a  small  thing  in  itself,  but  it  might  signify  a 
guilty  conscience.  Loudon  wondered. 

That  disreputable  person,  Scotty  Mackenzie,  approached, 
leading  his  horse. 

"Tom,"  said  Scotty,  his  blue  eyes  twinkling,  "don't  look 
so  downhearted.  He  wasn't  worth  shootin'." 

"I  dunno,  Scotty,"  replied  Loudon.  "It'll  come  to  it 
some  day,  or  I  miss  my  guess." 

"Yuh'll  miss  it  while  yo're  workin'  for  me.  Block  won't 

96 


THE  HORSE  THIEF  97 

never  come  to  the  Bend  again,  an*  yuh  can  go  the  limit  on 
that.  D'juh  get  the  mail?" 

"I  ain't  been  to  the  post  office.  Didn't  have  time.  I've 
been  right  busy  ever  since  I  sifted  in." 

"I'll  get  it  then.  Cap'n  Burr  wants  yuh  to  eat  dinner  at 
his  house.  I'll  drift  round  later.  Better  finish  up  what  yuh 
come  to  town  for  before  yuh  eat." 

"I  come  to  town  to  meet  you." 

"  To  meet  me ! "  exclaimed  Scotty .  "  Now  look  here,  Tom, 
do  I  look  like  I  need  a  gardeen?" 

"Didn't  yuh  write  to  Doubleday,"  said  the  bewildered 
London,  "tellin*  him  to  send  me  in  to  meet  yuh  here  to-day 
an'  for  me  to  ride  my  own  hoss?" 

"What  are  yuh  talkin'  about?  Me  write  Doubleday!  I 
should  say  not!" 

"Well,  all  I  know  is  Doubleday  got  a  letter  from  yuh,  an* 
it  was  mailed  in  Rocket." 

"Mailed  in  Rocket!  Why,  I  never  was  in  Rocket!  It's 
just  luck  me  bein'  here  to-day.  If  I  hadn't  met  Ben  Burr 
down  at  the  Wagonwheel  I  wouldn't  'a'  come  for  another 
couple  o'  days,  mebbe." 

"  It's  damn  funny.     That  letter  from  Rocket  is  no  dream." 

"I  hope  Doubleday  saves  the  letter.  Well,  you  go  on  an* 
eat.  See  yuh  later." 

Loudon  swung  into  the  saddle  and  galloped  to  the  house  of 
Captain  Burr.  On  the  doorsill  Dorothy  Burr  and  Pete 
O'Leary  sat  side  by  side.  As  Loudon  dismounted  Miss  Burr 
rose  to  meet  him. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Loudon!"  she  exclaimed,  "I've  just  heard  about 
your  frightful  experience.  I  wish  I'd  been  there.  I'd  have 
enjoyed  seeing  them  plaster  up  that  brute  of  a  sheriff." 

"He  did  look  kind  o'  odd,"  said  Loudon.  "Yore  ma  shore 
saved  my  life." 

"Wasn't  it  luck  Ma  was  down  street?  I  usually  go  my 
self,  but  this  morning  Mr.  O'Leary  came,  so  Ma  went.  We 
didn't  know  there  was  anything  going  on  till  Ma  came  back 
and  told  us,  and  then  it  was  all  over.  My!  I'd  like  to 
have  seen  Ma  talking  to  that  stupid  Dan  Smith.  The  big 


98  PARADISE  BEND 

idiot!  Ma's  mad  yet.  Oh,  I  forgot.  Have  you  met  Mr. 
O'Leary?" 

"I  know  him,"  said  Loudon  rather  ungraciously,  and 
nodded  to  the  gentleman  in  question.  "I  guess  I'll  put  the 
little  hoss  in  the  corral." 

"Yes,  do.     Pa's  out  there.     Dinner'll  be  ready  soon." 

Miss  Burr  returned  to  the  doorsill,  and  Loudon  led  away 
Ranger.  So  Pete  O'Leary  had  been  spending  the  morning 
at  the  Burrs' !  It  would  be  interesting  to  know  why  the  en 
gaging  O'Leary  had  chosen  to  call  upon  that  particular  morn 
ing.  Was  it  because  he  did  not  wish  to  identify  himself  in  any 
way  with  Sheriff  Block?  Was  it  the  guilty  conscience? 

"Well,  suh,"  smiled  Captain  Burr,  who  was  kneeling  at 
the  feet  of  one  of  his  horses,  "well,  suh,  it  went  against  the 
grain  to  let  that  scoundrel  go  in  peace,  didn't  it?" 

Loudon  smiled  grimly. 

"I  appreciate  youah  feelings  in  the  matteh,  Tom,"  con 
tinued  the  Captain.  "Such  a  puhson  should  not  be  allowed 
to  live.  My  impulse  was  to  shoot  him,  but  I  stayed  my  hand. 
As  I  may  have  mentioned  befo',  I  am  growing  soft-heahted. 
That's  right,  Tom,  cuss  away.  If  Block  were  otheh  than  he 
is,  he  would  shoot  himself.  No  gentleman  would  care  to  live 
afteh  being  tah'd  and  feath'ed.  But  Block  will  writhe  onwa'd 
like  the  snake  he  is  till  he  is  crushed  once  fo'  all. 

"Do  you  remembeh  what  I  said  the  day  you  made  him 
quit  right  in  the  street  in  Fa'ewell?  Well,  suh,  in  o'deh  to 
regain  the  respect  of  the  town  he  did  kill  a  man — an  inoffen 
sive  strangeh." 

"Yuh  might  know  it.  He'll  be  a  reg'lar  ' Billy  the  Kid* 
before  a  great  while." 

"Not  quite.  The  Lincoln  County  young  man  was  a  wa'- 
eagle.  Block's  a  buzza'd.  Tom,  I'm  afraid  this  Jeffe'son 
Davis  hoss  is  developing  a  wind-puff." 

Loudon  made  no  reply.  He  was  watching  an  approaching 
rider.  The  horseman  passed  by  without  a  glance  toward  the 
corral  and  loped  on  into  town. 

Now  the  road  in  front  of  the  Burr  house  was  the  beginning 
of  the  trail  to  the  Flying  M  ranch,  and  the  mounted  man  was 


THE  HORSE  THIEF  99 

none  other  than  Rufe  Cutting.  It  was  evident  to  Loudon 
that  he  had  not  underestimated  the  cook.  He  resolved  to 
seek  out  his  would-be  bushwhacker  immediately. 

Loudon  looked  quickly  down  at  the  Captain.  If  Burr  had 
perceived  London's  absorption  he  gave  no  sign.  He  merely 
requested  Loudon 's  opinion  of  the  slight  swelling  on  Jefferson 
Davis's  near  fore. 

"Yuh've  got  to  excuse  me,  Cap'n,"  said  Loudon,  hastily. 
"I've  got  a  little  business  to  attend  to  before  I  eat." 

"Need  any  help?"  inquired  Burr,  reaching  for  his  Greener. 

"No,  thanks,"  replied  Loudon,  swiftly  resaddling  Ranger. 

"Dinner!"  called  Mrs.  Burr,  sticking  her  head  out  of  the 
kitchen  door  a  moment  later.  "Why,  where's  Tom  Lou 
don?" 

"He's  gone  away,"  grumbled  her  husband,  regretfully  ey 
ing  his  shotgun. 

"Well,  of  all  things!  Just  as  dinner's  ready!  Don't  he 
know  he's  eatin'  here?  Will  he  be  gone  long?" 

"He  may  not  be  away  twenty  minutes,  and  then,  on  the 
otheh  hand,  he  may  neveh  retuhn." 

"Never  return!  What  are  you  talkin'  about,  Benjamin 
Burr?" 

"Wait  and  see,  my  love,  wait  and  see,"  rejoined  the  Cap 
tain,  and  went  in  to  dinner. 

Loudon,  meanwhile,  had  galloped  down  to  the  corner  of 
Main  Street.  Rufe  Cutting  was  not  in  sight.  But  his  horse 
was  standing  among  the  horses  in  front  of  the  Jacks  Up 
Saloon.  Loudon  rode  across  the  street  and  dismounted 
behind  a  freighter's  wagon  near  the  Chicago  Store,  where  he 
could  not  be  observed  from  the  windows  of  the  Jacks  Up. 
Then  he  walked  briskly  up  the  street  and  entered  the  saloon. 

Rufe  Cutting,  his  scratched  features  cast  in  sullen  lines, 
was  drinking  at  the  bar.  So  were  several  other  men.  A 
knot  of  citizens  in  Cutting's  immediate  rear  were  discussing 
the  events  of  the  morning.  Two  faro  tables  were  crowded. 
The  Jacks  Up  was  in  full  blast.  With  the  place  crowded  a 
gun-play  was  apt  to  result  in  damage  to  the  bystanders. 


100  PARADISE  BEND 

However,  the  choice  lay  with  Cutting.  Loudon  would 
allow  the  first  move. 

With  this  intention,  Loudon  edged  up  to  the  bar  and  called 
for  a  drink.  At  the  sound  of  his  voice  Cutting  turned  a  slow 
head.  There  were  two  men  in  between,  but  they  were  not 
standing  close  to  the  bar. 

Loudon,  watching  Cutting  out  of  his  eye-corners,  picked 
up  his  glass  with  his  left  hand.  Even  as  he  did  so,  panic 
seized  Cutting.  His  fingers  closed  on  his  own  full  glass  and 
he  hurled  it  at  Loudon 's  head. 

Involuntarily  Loudon  dodged.  When  he  recovered  him 
self  his  gun  was  out. 

The  bartender  promptly  vanished  under  the  bar.  Men 
skipped  and  dodged  and  flung  themselves  over  tables  and 
chairs  in  their  anxiety  to  give  Loudon  a  clear  line  of  fire. 
But  Cutting  had  disappeared. 

Two  swearing  men  sprawling  under  an  open  rear  window 
told  the  story.  In  his  fear-stricken  efforts  to  escape  Cutting 
had  knocked  them  both  down. 

Loudon  and  the  two  men,  one  of  whom  was  Jim  Mace  and 
the  other  Dan  Smith,  went  through  the  window  almost  simul 
taneously.  Both  sashes  went  with  them  to  a  brave  accom 
paniment  of  crackling  glass. 

Loudon  landed  on  his  knees,  and  was  in  time  for  a  snapshot 
at  a  leg  sliding  over  a  windowsill  of  the  house  next  door. 
Before  Loudon  could  rise  Mace  and  the  marshal  tumbled  over 
him.  The  three  fell  in  a  tangle  and  rolled  among  tin  cans 
and  bottles  for  a  space  of  time.  When  at  last,  red-faced  and 
almost  breathless,  they  rushed  the  house  next  door  they  were 
stopped  by  an  angry  woman  brandishing  a  frying-pan. 

"You  drunk  hunkers  can't  come  through  here!"  screamed 
the  irate  lady.  "  If  you  an'  yore  fool  friends  want  to  play  tag 
yuh  can  play  her  in  the  street!  What  do  yuh  mean  by 
bustin'  into  folks'  houses  an'  wakin'  my  baby  up?  You  id- 
jits!  She'll  be  bawlin'  her  brains  out  all  day  now!" 

"We're  after  a  hold-up!"  cried  Loudon  with  great  presence 
of  mind. 

It  had  the  desired  effect. 


THE  HORSE  THIEF  101 

"Why  didn't  yuh  say  so  at  first?    Come  right  in." 

Through  the  house  and  out  of  the  front  door  they  dashed. 
Drifting  clouds  of  dust  marked  Cutting's  line  of  flight. 
He  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant,  spurring  for  the  ford 
of  the  Dogsoldier  and  the  Farewell  trail.  The  marshal 
fired  a  futile  shot.  Loudon  laughed  and  holstered  his 
six-shooter. 

"Look  at  him  go ! "  he  chuckled.     " Scared  stiff." 

"Get  yore  bosses!"  commanded  the  marshal.  "Don't 
stand  here  gassin'!  We'll  go  after  him  right  away!" 

"Oh,  let  him  go,"  drawled  Loudon.  "He  ain't  worth 
chasin'." 

"But  he's  a  road  agent,  ain't  he?"  said  Jim  Mace. 

"No,  I  just  said  he  was,"  grinned  Loudon.  "He  ain't 
nothin'  but  a  right  good  cook,  so  far  as  I  know." 

"Ain't  he  done  nothin'?"  inquired  the  perplexed  marshal. 

"Only  jerked  a  glass  of  whisky  at  me,"  replied  Loudon. 
"Yuh  see,  I  ain't  right  popular  with  him." 

"From  the  way  he's  splittin'  the  breeze,"  said  Jim  Mace, 
"it  looks  like  he  don't  care  for  yore  society  none." 

"  I'd  ought  to  go  after  him,"grunted  the  marshal,  vengef  ully , 
tenderly  feeling  a  skinned  elbow.  "I  don't  mind  a  reg'lar 
gun-play,  but  this  here  chuckin'  glasses  round  promiscuous 
an'  bumpin'  folks  over  ain't  right.  It's  agin'  law  an'  order. 
He'd  ought  to  be  arrested.  The  calaboose  has  been  empty 
for  a  week,  too." 

Loudon  left  Jim  Mace  and  Dan  Smith  explaining  matters 
to  the  gathering  crowd,  and  walked  back  to  where  he  had  left 
his  horse.  Ranger  was  not  behind  the  freighter's  wagon. 
Loudon  ran  into  the  Chicago  Store. 

"Shore,"  said  the  proprietor.  "I  seen  a  feller  climbin* 
aboard  that  hoss  a  few  minutes  ago.  Seemed  in  a  hurry,  too. 
What?  Yore  hoss!" 

The  proprietor  ducked  under  the  counter  for  his  spurs  and 
his  rifle,  and  Loudon  hurried  out.  Cutting's  mount,  the  bay 
he  had  bought  from  Doubleday,  was  of  course  standing  where 
he  had  been  left  among  the  other  horses.  Loudon  threw  the 
dropped  reins  over  the  bay's  head  and  swung  up. 


102  PARADISE  BEND 

"He's. a  hoss  thief!"  he  shouted  to  Dan  Smith  and  Jim 
Mace.  "He  got  away  on  my  hoss!" 

Quirting  and  spurring,  Loudon  tore  down  the  street.  Be 
fore  the  horse's  hoofs  spattered  the  water  of  the  ford  the  pro 
prietor  of  the  Chicago  Store  and  the  marshal  were  galloping 
in  his  wake.  Jim  Mace  and  a  score  of  others  followed  at  in 
tervals.  A  horse  was  not  stolen  in  Paradise  Bend  every  day. 
The  inhabitants  were  bent  on  making  the  most  of  their  op 
portunity. 

The  bay  was  a  good  horse,  but  Ranger  was  the  better,  and 
Loudon  knew  it — knew,  too  that,  unless  Ranger  fell  down, 
Cutting  would  escape. 

"Ranger's  good  for  all  day,"  groaned  Loudon.  "All  day 
an'  not  strain  himself  a  little  bit." 

As  the  bay  flashed  across  the  top  of  a  rise  two  miles  beyond 
the  Dogsoldier,  Loudon  glimpsed  two  specks  four  miles 
ahead. 

"Block!  He's  with  Block!"  exclaimed  Loudon,  and  drove 
in  the  spurs. 

The  bay  leaped  madly  forward  and  rocketed  down  the 
long  slope.  A  high-lipped  swell  concealed  the  two  specks,  and 
for  a  long  ten  minutes  Loudon  rode  between  the  sides  of  the 
draw.  The  bay  charged  at  the  high-lipped  swell  with  un- 
diminished  vigour.  He  was  doing  his  level  best,  but  his 
gait  was  tied  in.  It  bore  not  the  remotest  resemblance  to 
Ranger's  free-swinging  stride.  When  Loudon  reached  the 
crest  of  the  swell  the  specks  had  vanished. 

He  put  the  reins  between  his  teeth  and  drew  the  Winchester 
from  the  scabbard  under  his  left  leg.  He  threw  down  the 
lever  a  trifle.  There  was  a  cartridge  in  the  chamber. 

The  loading  gate  resisted  the  pressure  of  his  thumb.  There 
was  at  least  one  cartridge  in  the  magazine,  but  by  the  weight 
of  the  rifle  he  judged  it  to  be  fully  loaded.  Loudon  returned 
the  Winchester  to  its  scabbard  and  slowed  the  willing  little 
bay  to  a  lope. 

"Yo're  all  right,  old  hoss,"  he  said,  "but  yuh  can't  never 
catch  that  hoss  o'  mine.  Not  in  a  million  years.  We  just 
got  to  wait  till  he  stops." 


THE  HORSE  THIEF  103 

Rufe  Cutting  could  have  devised  no  better  revenge  than 
the  stealing  of  Loudon's  horse.  Since  Loudon  had  owned 
Ranger  no  one  save  himself  and  Kate  Saltoun  had  ridden  him. 
Ranger's  legs  were  frequently  hand-rubbed.  Ranger  was 
curried.  With  his  fingers — no  true  horseman  would  dream 
of  using  the  comb  of  commerce — Loudon  frequently  combed 
Ranger's  mane  and  tail.  When  a  horse  in  the  cow  country 
is  curried  and  combed,  that  horse  is  a  highly  valued  horse. 
Johnny  Ramsay  accused  Loudon  of  wrapping  Ranger  in 
blankets  when  the  air  was  chilly,  and  of  taking  his  tempera 
ture  on  all  occasions.  Undoubtedly  Loudon  was  somewhat 
of  a  crank  where  Ranger  was  concerned. 

And  now  the  inconceivable  had  come  to  pass.  Ranger 
had  been  stolen — stolen  almost  under  the  very  nose  of  his 
master.  Loudon  did  not  swear.  His  feeling  was  too  deeply 
grim  for  that.  But  he  promised  himself  an  accounting — a 
very  full  accounting. 

Loudon  rode  onward  at  a  steady  lope.  Before  him 
stretched  the  dusty  ribbon  of  trail.  Blank  and  bare  it  led 
between  the  low  hills  and  lifted  over  the  ridges.  He  saw  no 
more  specks  ahead.  The  quarry  had  outdistanced  him. 

Fifteen  miles  out  of  Paradise  Bend  he  heard  a  faint  shout 
in  his  rear.  He  looked  over  his  shoulder.  A  half  mile  dis 
tant  two  men  were  galloping  toward  him.  One  of  them  waved 
an  arm  half  red,  half  blue. 

"Scotty,"  muttered  Loudon,  and  checked  his  horse. 

The  two  clattered  up,  their  horses'  out-blown  nostrils 
whistling.  One  of  the  men  was  the  owner  of  the  Flying  M. 
The  other  was  the  proprietor  of  the  Chicago  Store. 

"Seen  him?"  demanded  Scotty. 

"Once,"  replied  Loudon.  "He's  ridin'  with  Block  now, 
but  they  pulled  away  from  me.  I  ain't  seen  'em  for  over  a 
hour." 

"They're  stickin'  to  the  trail,"  grunted  the  store  proprietor, 
who  rejoiced  in  the  name  of  Ragsdale,  glancing  at  the  hoof- 
marks  in  the  dust. 

"C'mon!"  snapped  Scotty  Mackenzie. 

Three  miles  farther  on  Ragsdale's  mount  began  to  falter. 


104  PARADISE  BEND 

"He's  done,5*  growled  Ragsdale.     "Give  'em  one  for  me." 

Ragsdale  halted.     Loudon  and  Scotty  Mackenzie  rode  on. 

"Where  did  yuh  get  that  bay?"  queried  Scotty,  eying  the 
Flying  M  brand  on  the  bay's  hip. 

"It  was  his — Cutting's,"  replied  Loudon. 

"Cutting's?     Djuh  mean  Rufe  Cutting  is  the  hoss  thief?" 

"Shore!  I  clean  forgot  yuh  didn't  know  about  Cutting's 
quittin'  his  job." 

Loudon  explained  the  manner  of  the  cook's  departure  and 
his  subsequent  actions  to  Mackenzie. 

"An',"  said  Loudon,  in  conclusion,  "I  seen  that  feller  at 
the  88  that  time  I  bought  my  hoss  from  Blakely." 

"Yuh  did!    Are  yuh  shore?" 

"Shore  as  yo're  a  day  old.  I  was  walkin*  past  the  bunk- 
house  with  Blakely,  an*  this  fellah  was  out  in  front  with  his 
shirt  off  a-washin'  himself,  an'  I  seen  a  eagle  tattooed  on  his 
chest  in  blue,  an*  underneath  a  heart  with  a  R  on  one  side 
an'  a  T  on  the  other.  Just  before  yore  cook  pulled  his  freight 
his  shirt  got  tore,  an'  I  seen  his  chest,  an'  there  was  the  eagle 
an'  the  heart  an'  the  two  letters  R  an  T.  I  knowed  when  I 
first  laid  eyes  on  him  up  here  at  the  Fly  in'  M  that  I'd  seen 
him  some'ers,  but  I  couldn't  place  him  till  I  seen  the  tattoo- 
work.  It  all  come  back  to  me  then." 

"What  was  his  name  at  the  88?" 

"I  never  knowed.  I  never  cut  his  trail  again  down  there. 
He  wasn't  one  o'  the  reg'lar  outfit.  I  know  all  o'  them." 

"Did  Cap'n  Burr  see  him?" 

"No,  he  didn't.  I  remember  now,  when  the  Cap'n  come 
this  fellah  wasn't  in  sight,  an'  he  didn't  show  up  again  while 
we  was  there.  Cap'n  Burr  left  when  I  did." 

"Cutting  worked  for  me  nigh  onto  a  year.  He's  always 
earned  his  pay.  Never  done  nothin'  out  of  the  way." 

"I  dunno  what  it  means.  It's  all  a  heap  mysterious — 
special  mysterious  when  yuh  come  to  think  o'  what  O'Leary 
asked  me  when  I  first  hit  the  Bend.  *  Couldn't  Sam  come?' 
says  O'Leary  to  me.  Busts  out  into  the  street  to  say  it,  too, 
right  after  I'd  asked  yuh  the  way  to  Cap'n  Burr's  house." 

"I  remember,"  said  Scotty,  thoughtfully.     "I  seen  him 


THE  HORSE  THIEF  105 

talkin*  to  yuh.  I  thought  yuh  knowed  him.  I  wonder  who 
he  took  yuh  for?" 

"One  o'  Blakely's  outfit,  o*  course,"  replied  Loudon.  "It 
was  that  88  brand  o'  Ranger's  done  the  trick  for  him  like  it 
done  for  you.  '  Couldn't  Sam  come?'  says  he.  Then  he  says, 
'It's  all  right.  I'm  Pete  O'Leary!'  When  he  seen  I  didn't 
understand  him  none,  he  got  gun-shy  immediate  an*  wandered. 
An*  he  didn't  forget  me  a  little  bit.  Telescope  told  me  that 
he'd  been  tryin'  to  find  out  if  you'd  hired  me.  One  day  he 
come  out  to  the  ranch  an'  stopped  just  long  enough  to  say 
howdy.  Wanted  to  make  shore  I  was  there,  see?  What  do 
yuh  make  of  it?" 

"Nothin* — yet.     We  got  to  wait  an'  see  what  happens." 

"Seein'  what  happens  may  be  expensive.  I  tell  yuh  flat, 
Scotty,  Sam  Blakely  has  got  somethin*  under  the  table  for 
yuh.  He's  aimin'  to  put  a  crimp  in  yuh.  Yuh  can  go  the 
limit  on  that." 

"There  ain't  nothin'  certain  about  it." 

"O'  course  there  ain't.  Sam  ain't  goin'  to  give  himself 
away.  I  wish  you'd  let  me  Injun  'round  some  an'  see  what's 
up.  I  think,  maybe,  yuh'll  save  money  if  yuh  do." 

"Well,  I  dunno "  hesitated  Scotty. 

"O'  course,"  said  Loudon,  quickly,  "Blakely's  got  it  in  for 
me.  But  whatever  he's  cookin'  up  for  you  he  thought  of 
before  I  ever  rode  north.  My  comin'  north  has  sort  of  upset 
his  plans.  He  knows  I  know  all  about  him,  an'  he  wants  to 
shut  my  mouth  before  he  turns  his  bull  loose." 

"Yo're  goin'  to  meet  him  in  Farewell,  ain't  yuh?  Seems 
to  me  Richie  said  somethin'  about  it." 

"Shore  I  am,  but  what's  that  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"Why,  maybe  that's  the  reason  he  wants  yuh  out  of  the 
way.  He  may  not  hanker  after  shootin'  it  out  with  yuh." 

"No,  Sam  Blakely  ain't  afraid,"  denied  Loudon.  "He 
wouldn't  object  any  to  meetin'  me  in  Farewell  if  that  was  all 
there  was  to  it.  No,  what's  worryin*  him  is  me  bein'  here  at 
the  Flying  M.  An'  it's  worryin'  him  a  lot,  or  he'd  never  'a' 
sent  Block  two  hundred  miles." 

"Well,  I  dunno.     Yuh  may  be  right,  Tom,  but  I  don't 


106  PARADISE  BEND 

just  guess  Sam  Blakely  will  try  to  put  any  crimps  in  me. 
He  knows  it  would  come  kind  o'  high.  Of  course  it's  mighty 
puzzlin'.  I  don't  understand  it  none.  One  thing,  Blakely 
shore  tried  his  best  to  get  yuh  down  on  the  Lazy  River,  an' 
that's  why  it  looks  to  me  like  Block  was  sent  to  put  in  the 
last  licks." 

"He  was,  but  not  the  way  yuh  think.  I  could  gas  my  head 
off  about  Blakely  up  here  in  the  Bend,  an'  it  wouldn't  matter 

a so  long  as  he  was  down  on  the  Lazy.  But  if  he  left 

the  Lazy  an*  come  projeckin'  up  to  the  Bend,  then  what  I'd 
be  sayin'  would  count  a  lot.  See  now?" 

"I  see,"  admitted  Scotty. 

"Well,  gimme  a  chance  to  find  out  what  he's  up  to." 

"No,  Tom,  there's  too  much  to  do  at  the  ranch.  I  can't  let 
yuh  go.  Yo're  too  good  a  man.  I  need  yuh  right  at  home. 
We'll  wait  an' see  what  happens.  Then  we'll  know  what  to  do." 

"It  may  be  too  late  then,"  grumbled  Loudon. 

"If  it  is,  then  blame  me.     I'm  the  one  to  lose,  anyway." 

"Yuh  shore  are." 

Oh,  the  denseness  of  ranch  owners!  Was  Scotty  Macken 
zie  to  turn  out  another  Saltoun? 

"It's  a  blind  trail,"  observed  Scotty,  picking  up  the  tangled 
thread  of  their  discourse.  "  Some  things  kind  o'  fit  when  yuh 
look  at  'em  one  way,  an'  then  again  they  don't  when  yuh 
look  at  'em  another.  Cutting  don't  fit,  none  whatever. 
All  the  time  he  worked  for  me,  he  only  went  to  town  twice, 
an'  the  last  time  was  six  months  ago.  O'Leary  never  come 
to  see  him,  so  if  somethin's  up  like  yuh  say  there  is,  Rufe's 
out  of  it.  But  that  won't  help  him  none  now.  He'll  go  out 
if  we  ever  come  up  with  him." 

"If  we  do,"  supplemented  Loudon. 

"My  idea  exactly.  That  hoss  o'  yores  can  shore  wriggle 
along,  an'  he  had  a  big  start." 

"I'm  goin'  through  to  Rocket  anyhow." 

"Me,  too." 

Till  the  latter  half  of  the  afternoon  they  kept  the  ponies 
loping.  Then,  slowing  to  a  walk,  they  risked  a  short-cut 
and  did  not  strike  the  trail  again  till  the  sun  was  setting. 


THE  HORSE  THIEF  107 

"Still  keepin'  together,"  announced  Loudon,  after  one 
look  at  the  trail. 

"An'  still  hittin'  the  high  places,"  said  Scotty.  "Them  two 
cay  uses  shore  have  bottom.  Cutting  knowed  a  good  hoss  all 
right." 


CHAPTER    XI 

BOCKET 

^  |  ^J±K  two  men  reached  Rocket  before  midnight  and  rode 

I     up  to  the  door  of  the  combination  saloon  and  hotel. 

JL  While  Scotty  hammered  on  the  planks  with  his  fist, 
Loudon  uttered  stentorian  yells.  Rocket,  male  and  female, 
awoke,  poked  their  heads  out  of  the  windows  and  shrilly  de 
manded  information. 

" Hoss  thief ! "  bawled  Loudon.  " He's  ridin'  a  long-legged 
chestnut  with  a  white  spot  on  his  nose !  Fellah  with  him  on 
a  black  horse!  The  sport  on  the  black  may  or  may  not  be 
dressed  like  a  bird,  accordin'  to  whether  he's  washed  himself ! 
Have  yuh  seen  'em?" 

Rocket  with  one  voice  assured  Loudon  that  he  was  drunk, 
and  advised  the  watering-trough. 

"I  ain't  foolin',"  expostulated  Loudon.  "The  gent  on  the 
black  cayuse,  which  his  name  is  Block,  Sheriff  o'  Fort  Creek 
County,  was  tarred  an'  feathered  in  Paradise  Bend  this  after 
noon." 

Partisan  Rocket  cheered,  and,  in  the  same  breath,  grieved 
that  neither  of  the  fugitives  had  been  seen  and  clamoured  to 
know  details  of  the  tarring  and  feathering.  Rocket  was  in 
Sunset  County,  and  it  was  delightful  to  hear  that  Fort  Creek, 
in  the  person  of  its  sheriff,  had  been  insulted. 

Loudon,  sitting  at  ease  on  his  weary,  drooping-headed 
pony,  told  the  tale.  He  carefully  refrained,  however,  from 
mentioning  his  own  leading  part  in  the  affair.  Rocket  re 
ceived  the  story  with  howls  of  mirth.  Later,  the  male  por 
tion  stuffed  its  nightshirts  into  trousers,  pulled  on  boots,  and 
gathered  three  deep  around  Loudon  and  Scotty  while  the 
two  devoured  cold  beef  and  beans  in  the  dining  room  of  the 
hotel. 

108 


ROCKET  109 

"Glad  to  see  yo're  feelin'  better  over  yore  hoss,"  observed 
Scotty,  when  the  last  Rocketer  had  departed. 

"Oh,  I  made  'em  laugh,"  said  Loudon,  dismally.  "But  it 
didn't  make  me  feel  like  laughin'  myself  a  little  bit.  I  feel 
just  as  bad  as  ever — worse  if  any  thin'.  Why,  Scotty,  that 
hoss  could  do  everythin'  but  talk." 

"Shore,"  said  Scotty,  hastily,  "but  we  can't  do  nothin* 
now.  We've  done  all  we  could.  They  didn't  come  through 
Rocket,  that's  certain.  They've  done  turned  off  some'ers. 
We  can't  trail  'em  to-night,  an'  by  to-morrow  they'll  be 
forty  mile  off.  There's  no  use  in  keepin'  it  up." 

Scotty  looked  anxiously  at  Loudon.  The  latter  made 
no  reply.  He  was  staring  at  the  lamp  on  the  table,  his  ex 
pression  bitter  in  the  extreme. 

"Tell  yuh  what,"  hazarded  Scotty.  "Yuh  can  have  that 
bay  yo're  ridin'.  He  ain't  like  yore  reg'lar  hoss,  but  he's  a 
good  pony.  Look  at  the  way  he  went  to-day.  Got  bottom, 
that  hoss  has.  Go  till  the  Guff  o*  Mexico  freezes 
solid." 

"  That's  right  good  o'  yuh,  Scotty,  but  I  couldn't  take  him 
off  yuh  thataway.  I  might  buy  him  some  day." 

"The  offer  goes  as  it  lays.  Yuh  don't  have  to  buy  him. 
He's  yores  whenever  yuh  want  him.  Well,  what  are  yuh 
figurin'  on  doin'?" 

"It's  no  use  chasin'  'em  any  more  now.  I  know  that. 
Might  as  well  wander  back  where  we  come  from.  Later, 
two  or  three  weeks  maybe,  I'm  goin*  south." 

"Goin'  south!"  Scotty  was  aghast.  He  did  not  wish  to 
lose  his  best  man. 

"Yep.  Goin'  south.  Don't  expect  to  find  Cutting  first 
off.  But  I'll  find  Block,  an*  I  guess  he'll  know  somethin' 
about  friend  Cutting.  I'd  go  instanter,  only  I  want  to  give 
Block  time  to  get  back  an'  get  settled  before  I  pay  him  a  call. 
I  tell  yuh,  Scotty,  I  want  that  hoss  o'  mine,  an'  I'll  get  him 
back  if  it  takes  me  the  rest  o'  my  life!" 

"You  gents  want  beds?"  inquired  the  landlord,  suddenly 
appearing  in  the  doorway. 

"Shore,"  replied  Scotty.     "Two  of  'em." 


110  PARADISE  BEND 

"Say,  who's  the  postmaster  here?"  Loudon  asked. 

"Me,"  was  the  landlord's  weary  reply. 

"A  couple  o'  days  ago,"  said  Loudon,  "a  letter  addressed 
to  John  Doubleday  in  Paradise  Bend  was  mailed  here.  Re 
member  who  mailed  it?" 

"Couldn't  say,  stranger,"  yawned  the  landlord.  "Oh, 
shore,"  he  added,  as  Loudon  looked  incredulous,  "I  could  tell 
yuh  everybody  else  what  mailed  mail  for  the  last  month. 
But  that  one  letter  I  couldn't.  I  didn't  see  the  man,  woman, 
child,  or  Injun  what  mailed  it.  Three  days  ago  when  I 
got  up  in  the  mornin*  an*  went  outside  to  wash  my  face  I 
done  found  that  letter  an'  two  bits  a-layin'  on  the  door-step. 
That's  all.  Just  a  letter  an'  two  bits.  I  clamps  on  a  stamp 
an*  sends  her  along  when  the  up-stage  pulls  in." 

"Any  parties  from  the  Bend  in  town  that  day,  or  the  day 
before?" 

"Nary  a  party  as  I  knows  of — but  then  I  ain't  got  eyes 
all  over  me.  Some  sport  might  'a'  slid  through  an'  me  not 
know  it." 

"I  ain't  askin'  questions  just  to  make  talk,"  said  Loudon, 
sharply.  "So  if  yuh  ain't  got  no  real  serious  objections  I'll 
ask  a  couple  more." 

"No  need  to  get  het,  stranger,"  soothed  the  landlord. 
"No  need  to  get  het.  Ask  away." 

"Any  strangers  been  in  town  lately?" 

"Two,  to-day.  They're  the  only  strangers  I've  seen  for 
quite  a  spell,  an*  they're  upstairs  now.  Lady  an'  gent  they 
are,  travellin'  separate.  Goin'  to  the  Bend,  I  reckon.  Yest'- 
day  the  off  hind  wheel  o'  the  stage  dished  down  at  Lew's 
Gully,  an'  she  come  in  on  three  wheels  an'  half  a  cottonwood. 
Passengers  had  to  stay  over  till  Whisky  Jim  rustled  him  a  new 
wheel.  Whisky'll  pull  out  in  the  mornin'." 

"Who's  the  gent?" 

"Drummer.     Dunno  his  name." 

"Didn't  Block— you  know,  Sheriff  Block  o'  Fort  Creek— 
didn't  he  stop  here  a  day  or  two  ago?  He  must  'a'  come 
through  Rocket." 

"Shore  he  did.     But  he  ain't  no  stranger.     I  see  him  as 


ROCKET  111 

many  as  two  or  three  times  a  year.  Shore  he  come  through 
Rocket.  He  had  a  drink  here  day  before  yest'day.  Goin' 
to  the  Bend,  he  said." 

"Well,  if  he  stops  on  his  way  back  tell  him  Tom  Loudon 
was  askin'  for  him.  Old  friend  o'  mine,  the  sheriff  is.  Just 
tell  him  yuh  know  me,  an'  he'll  set  'em  up  for  the  whole 
town." 

"I  expect,"  grinned  the  landlord.  "Was  you  wantin' 
beds,  gents?" 

"That's  us,"  grunted  Scotty.  "Me,  I'm  asleep  from  the 
neok  down.  Show  me  that  bed,  Mister." 

Loudon,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  his  sway-backed  cot,  pulled 
off  his  boots,  dropped  them  clattering  on  the  floor,  and  looked 
across  at  Scotty  Mackenzie. 

"Block  didn't  send  that  letter — or  write  it,"  he  said, 
sliding  his  long  body  under  the  blanket. 

"How  do  yuh  know?"  came  in  muffled  tones  from  Scotty. 

"He  ain't  got  the  brains.  No  sir,  some  gent  in  Paradise 
Bend  sent  that  letter,  an'  I  think  I  know  his  name." 

"Who  is  he?"  Scotty  was  plainly  striving  to  keep  awake, 
and  making  a  poor  job  of  it. 

"I'll  tell  yuh  after  we  get  back  to  the  Bend." 

Next  morning,  while  the  east  was  yet  lemon  and  gray,  the 
thunderous  clamour  of  a  beaten  dish-pan  reverberated  through 
the  hotel.  The  hideous  din  ceased  abruptly,  and  the  voice 
of  the  landlord  became  audible. 

"Yuh  half-witted  idjit!  Don't  yuh  know  better'n  to  beat 
that  pan  when  there's  a  lady  in  the  house?  Dish-pans  is  for 
common  folks,  an'  don't  yuh  forget  it !  Now  you  hump  yore- 
self  upstairs  an'  bang  on  her  door  right  gentle  an'  tell  her 
the  stage  is  due  to  pull  out  in  a  hour." 

"Must  be  a  real  lady,"  commented  Loudon,  when  a  door 
at  the  other  end  of  the  corridor  had  been  duly  rapped  upon. 

"  Must  be,"  said  Scotty  in  a  singularly  joyless  tone.  "  Yuh 
couldn't  hear  what  she  said  to  the  feller.  Reg'lar  female 
ladies  always  talk  so  yuh  got  to  ask  'em  to  say  it  again, 
they  carry  fancy-coloured  umbrellas  when  the  sun  shines, 


112  PARADISE  BEND 

an*  they  pack  their  gold  specs  on  the  end  of  a  stick.  They 
watch  yuh  eat,  too.  I  know  'em.  Yuh  bet  I  do. 

"I  met  a  pair  of  'em  once  when  they  was  visitin*  at  the 
Seven  Lazy  Seven.  They  made  me  so  nervous  a-lookin* 
at  me  that  I  cut  the  roof  o*  my  mouth  three  times  with  iny 
knife.  Reg'lar  ladies  don't  make  me  feel  to  home  nohow. 
I'm  goin'  down  now  an'  eat  before  this  one  scampers  in  an* 
spoils  my  appetite." 

So  saying,  Scotty  almost  ran  from  the  room,  buckling  on 
his  cartridge-belt  as  he  went. 

The  drummer  was  at  the  table  when  the  two  Flying  M  men 
sat  down.  An  impressive  person  was  the  drummer.  He  was 
known  in  his  own  circle  as  a  "perfectly  elegant  dresser.*' 
If  the  tightest  of  tight-fitting  suits,  the  gaudiest  of  shirts,  the 
highest  of  collars,  an  explosive  cravat,  two  watch-chains,  a 
bartender's  curl,  and  a  perpetual  leer  made  for  elegance,  that 
drummer  was  elegant  to  a  degree. 

The  three  had  nearly  finished  breakfast  when  there  came 
a  tapping  of  quick  heels  on  the  stairs.  Scotty  Mackenzie 
groaned.  The  drummer  hastily  patted  his  curl  and  broad 
ened  his  leer.  Loudon  raised  his  eyes  and  gasped  audibly. 
His  knife  and  fork  rattled  on  the  plate.  For  the  woman  en 
tering  the  room  was  Kate  Saltoun. 

"Good  morning,  Tom,"  said  Kate,  brightly,  quite  as  if  she 
and  he,  the  best  of  friends,  had  parted  the  previous  evening. 

The  nonplussed  Loudon  mumbled  unintelligibly,  but  ac 
complished  a  passable  greeting  by  the  time  Kate  had  seated 
herself  directly  opposite.  The  drummer  glanced  contemp 
tuously  at  Loudon,  and,  with  a  flourish  and  a  killing  ogle, 
handed  the  bread  to  Kate.  Miss  Saltoun  helped  herself, 
nodded  casual  thanks,  and  bestowed  a  ravishing  smile  on 
Loudon. 

"I'm  awfully  glad  to  see  you  again,  Tom,*'  she  declared, 
buttering  her  bread.  "It's  just  like  old  times,  isn't  it?'* 

Could  this  smiling  young  girl  be  Kate  Saltoun?  Was  this 
the  Kate  that  had  called  him  names  and  broken  his  heart  and 
driven  him  from  the  Lazy  River?  Loudon  furtively  pinched 
himself.  The  pinch  hurt. 


ROCKET  113 

It  was  not  all  a  dream  then.  Kate  Saltoun,  in  the  flesh, 
and  separated  from  him  by  not  more  than  four  feet  of  scaly 
oilcloth,  was  actually  smiling  at  him.  Words  failed  Loudon. 
He  could  do  nothing  but  gaze. 

Scotty,  fearful  of  an  introduction,  oozed  from  the  table. 
The  drummer,  unused  to  being  ignored,  fidgeted.  He  cleared 
his  throat  raucously.  He  would  show  this  dumb  person  in 
chaps  how  a  gentleman  comports  himself  in  the  presence  of  a 
lady.  It  was  the  drummer's  first  trip  West. 

"Beautiful  day,  Miss,  beautiful,"  he  smirked,  tilting  back 
in  his  chair,  and  rattling  his  watch-chains.  "We  should  have 
a  quick  trip  to  Paradise  Bend.  Our  driver,  I  understand,  has 
procured  another  wheel,  and " 

The  full-voiced  utterance  died  abruptly. 

For  Kate  had  looked  imploringly  at  Loudon,  and  Loudon 
had  swung  about  to  face  the  drummer.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  the  drummer  realized  how  cold,  how  utterly  daunting, 
a  pair  of  human  eyes  could  be. 

"You  through?"  demanded  Loudon. 

The  drummer  endured  that  disconcerting  stare  while  a  man 
might  draw  three  breaths.  Then  his  eyelids  quivered, 
dropped,  and  a  curious  mottled  pallor  overspread  his  coun 
tenance.  He  glanced  up,  met  again  that  disconcerting  stare, 
and  quickly  looked  elsewhere. 

"You  through?"  repeated  Loudon. 

"  I — I  don't  know  as  that's  any  of  your  business,"  said  the 
drummer,  faintly. 

"Git  out,"  ordered  Loudon. 

"Why,  look  here!     By  what  right " 

"Git  out."     Loudon  had  not  raised  his  voice. 

The  drummer  glanced  at  Miss  Saltoun.  She  was  crumb 
ling  her  bread  and  looking  over  his  head  with  an  air  of  in 
tense  boredom.  So  far  as  she  was  concerned,  he  had  ceased 
to  exist.  And  she  had  been  so  friendly  and  companionable 
on  the  long  ride  from  Farewell. 

"You've  done  kept  me  waitin*  some  time,"  suggested 
Loudon,  softly. 

Awkwardly,  for  he  found  his  knees  strangely  weak,  the 


114  PARADISE  BEND 

drummer  rose.  With  a  lame  attempt  at  jauntiness  he  pulled 
down  his  vest,  shot  his  cuffs,  and  teetered  from  the  room.  He 
made  his  way  to  the  bar  and  called  for  whisky.  His  nerves 
were  rather  upset. 

"Jake's  put  yore  stuff  in  the  stage,"  announced  the  land 
lord,  who  was  also  the  bartender. 

"Then  Jake  can  take  my  bags  out  again,"  said  the  drum 
mer,  disagreeably.  "I'm  staying  over  till  to-morrow." 

"Well,  hotel-keepers  can't  afford  to  be  particular,"  the 
landlord  said,  unsmilingly.  "But  yuh'll  have  to  unload  yore 
truck  yore  own  self." 

The  drummer  would  have  enjoyed  cursing  the  landlord. 
But  the  latter  had  the  same  peculiar  look  about  the  eyes  that 
Loudon  had.  The  drummer  went  out  into  the  street,  think 
ing  evil  thoughts  of  these  unamiable  Westerners. 

Kate,  when  the  drummer  left  the  room,  smiled  sweetly 
upon  Loudon.  It  was  his  reward  for  ridding  her  of  a  pest. 
She  did  not  know  that  Loudon's  prime  reason  for  squelching 
the  drummer  was  practically  the  same  reason  that  impels  the 
average  man,  on  receiving  an  unpleasant  surprise,  to  throw 
things  at  the  cat. 

"How's  Johnny  Ramsay  gettin'  along?"  inquired  Loudon. 

"He  has  completely  recovered,"  Kate  replied.  "He  went 
back  to  the  Cross-in-a-box  four  days  ago." 

"That's  good.     I'm  glad  to  hear  it." 

Paying  no  further  attention  to  Kate,  Loudon  calmly  pro 
ceeded  to  finish  his  breakfast.  Kate  began  to  find  the  silence 
painful. 

"Why,  Tom,"  said  she,  "aren't  you  even  a  little  bit  glad 
to  see  me?" 

"Why  should  I  be  glad?"  parried  Loudon. 

"You're  not  very  polite,  Tom.  You — you  make  me  feel 
very  badly.  Why,  oh,  why  do  you  persist  in  making  it  so 
hard  for  me?" 

Kate's  voice  was  pitched  low,  and  there  was  a  running  sob 
in  it.  But  Loudon  was  not  in  the  least  affected. 

"Last  time  I  seen  yuh,"  Loudon  stated,  deliberately,  "yuh 


ROCKET  115 

told  me  flat  yuh  never  wanted  to  see  me  again.  Yuh  was 
engaged  to  Sam  Blakely,  too.  I  don't  understand  yuh  a 
little  bit." 

"Perhaps  you  will  when  I  explain.  You  see,  I  am  no 
longer  engaged  to  Mr.  Blakely." 

"Yo're  lucky." 

"I  think  so  myself.  Under  the  circumstances,  can't  we 
be  f wends  again?  I  didn't  mean  what  I  said,  boy.  Truly  I 
didn't." 

London  was  looking  at  Kate,  but  he  did  not  see  her  as  she 
sat  there  in  her  chair,  her  black  eyes  imploring.  Instead,  he 
saw  her  as  she  appeared  that  day  in  the  kitchen  of  the  Bar  S, 
when  she  wiped  his  kiss  from  her  mouth  and  ordered  him  to 
leave  her. 

"Yo're  too  many  for  me,"  he  said  at  last.  "I  dunno  what 
yo're  drivin'  at.  But  if  yuh  want  to  be  friends,  why,  I'm 
the  last  fellah  in  the  world  to  be  yore  enemy.  Yuh  know  I 
never  have  exactly  disliked  yuh,  Kate.  Well,  I  got  to  be 
weavin'  along.  Glad  to  have  seen  yuh,  Kate.  I'll  see  yuh 
later,  maybe." 

"Of  course  you  will,  Tom.  I'll  be  at  Lil's— Mrs.  Mace, 
you  know,  at  the  Bend.  You  will  come  and  see  me,  won't 
you?" 

"Shore  I  will,  an' glad  to." 

Loudon  dropped  the  lady's  hand  as  if  it  had  been  a  hot 
iron,  and  departed.  He  had  no  intention  of  going  near  the 
house  of  Mrs.  Mace.  He  never  wanted  to  see  Kate  Saltoun 
again. 

In  the  street  he  found  Scotty  nervously  awaiting  him. 

"Git  yore  hoss,"  said  Scotty,  "an'  let's  git  out  o'  here." 

"What's  all  the  hurry?"  queried  Loudon. 

"That  female  girl  in  the  hotel.  She'll  be  out  in  a  minute, 
an'  then  yuh'll  have  to  introduce  me." 

"She's  Kate  Saltoun,  Scotty." 

"Old  Salt's  daughter!  It  don't  sound  possible.  An'  him 
with  a  face  like  a  grizzly.  She's  shorely  four  aces,  Tom,  an* 
as  pretty  as  a  little  red  wagon.  But  I  ain't  aimin'  to  make 
her  acquaintance,  an'  yuh  can  gamble  on  that." 


116  PARADISE  BEND 

Happily  for  Scotty's  peace  of  mind  he  and  Loudon  left 
Rocket  twenty  minutes  ahead  of  the  stage. 

The  drummer  watched  the  departure  of  the  stage  with 
brooding  eyes.  When  the  dust  in  the  street  had  settled  he 
had  another  drink  at  the  bar  and  ensconced  himself  in  a  corner 
of  the  barroom  where  he  could  glower  unobserved  at  the 
landlord. 

The  latter  had  gone  to  the  corral,  but  the  drummer  was 
still  sitting  in  his  chair,  when,  toward  noon,  two  men  entered. 
They  were  unprepossessing  individuals,  both  of  them, 
though  one,  the  tall  man  with  the  black  beard,  had  obviously 
just  washed  himself  thoroughly.  Even  his  clothing  had  been 
scrubbed. 

The  drummer  sniffed  inquiringly.  What  was  that  elusive 
odour — that  strange  smell  or  rather  mixture  of  smells?  The 
drummer  sniffed  again. 

"Got  a  cold?"  growled  the  black-bearded  man. 

"No,"  said  the  drummer,  sulkily. 

"Then  don't  snuffle.  I  don't  like  snufflin',  I  don't.  It 
makes  me  jumpy,  snufflin'  does.  Breathe  through  yore 
mouth  if  yuh  got  to." 

The  look  which  the  black-avised  individual  bent  upon  the 
drummer  was  not  reassuring.  The  wretched  drummer  shrank 
into  himself  and  took  care  to  breathe  in  an  inoffensive  man 
ner.  The  black-bearded  man  was  extremely  sensitive  about 
that  odour,  for  it  emanated  from  his  own  person  and  habili 
ments.  Tobacco  smoke  had  no  effect  upon  it.  It  clung  after 
the  fashion  of  loving  relations.  Strong  soap,  scorched  mo 
lasses,  and  singed  feathers,  had  given  birth  to  that  odour. 
No  wonder  he  was  sensitive ! 

His  companion,  whose  face  bore  numerous  scratches,  stared 
round  the  barroom. 

"Where's  the  barkeep?"  he  grunted. 

"Don't  need  no  barkeep,"  announced  the  black-bearded 
man,  and  started  to  walk  round  the  bar. 

"Don't  yuh?"  inquired  the  voice  of  the  landlord.  "Yuh 
got  another  guess  comin*.  Yuh  can't  run  no  blazers  in  this 
shack,  Block,  an'  that  goes." 


ROCKET  117 

The  eyes  of  the  black-bearded  man  glowed  evilly.  He 
stopped  in  his  tracks,  his  raised  hand  halted  in  the  act  of 
reaching  for  a  bottle.  He  stared  at  the  landlord  standing  in 
the  doorway.  The  landlord  stared  back,  his  thumbs  hooked 
in  his  belt. 

"Get  us  a  drink  then,"  snarled  Block,  and  he  joined  his 
friend  in  front  of  the  bar. 

"That's  what  I'm  here  for,"  rejoined  the  landlord,  cheer 
fully.  "I  don't  care  who  I  serve.  Why,  I  give  that  a  drink 
awhile  ago."  He  flicked  a  contemptuous  thumb  at  the 
drummer. 

"Hurry  up!"  admonished  Block. 

"No  hurry,"  chirruped  the  landlord  insultingly.  "I  never 
was  in  a  hurry,  an'  I  ain't  goin'  to  begin  now.  What '11  yuh 
have— milk?" 

"Say,"  exclaimed  the  man  with  the  scratched  face,  "are 
you  lookin'  for  trouble?" 

"Stranger,"  replied  the  landlord,  turning  a  pair  of  calm 
brown  eyes  on  his  questioner — "stranger,  a  gent  don't  never 
look  for  trouble.  It  comes  to  him  unexpected-like.  But 
none  ain't  comin'  to  me  to-day.  Soon  as  I  seen  you  two  tin 
horns  in  here  I  told  a  friend  o'  mine.  He's  a-watchin'  yuh 
from  the  window  right  now." 

Block  and  his  friend  involuntarily  turned  their  heads. 
Framed  in  the  open  window  were  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a 
man.  In  his  hands  was  a  sawed-off  shotgun.  The  blunt 
muzzle  gaped  ominously  at  them. 

"Well,  by  Gawd!"  began  the  scratch-faced  man. 

"Shut  up!"  said  Block.  "These  folks  seem  scared  of  us. 
No  use  fussin'.  We'll  just  licker  an'  git." 

"Them's  the  words  I  like  to  hear,"  observed  the  landlord, 
slapping  bottle  and  glasses  on  the  bar.  "Yuh  can't  pull 
out  too  quick  to  suit  me,  Block.  I  know  about  yore  goin's-on 
down  in  Farewell — rabbin*  out  harmless  strangers.  Yuh 
may  be  a  sheriff  an'  all  that,  but  yore  office  don't  travel  a 
foot  in  Sunset  County." 

"Yuh  talk  big,"  growled  Block.  "Yuh  needn't  think  yuh 
can  bluff  me.  If  I  feel  like  takin'  this  town  apart,  I'll  do  it." 


118  PARADISE  BEND 

"Shore,  just  like  yuh  took  the  Bend  apart.  Got  the  mo 
lasses  out  o'  yore  system  yet?'* 

Block's  eyes  were  fairly  murderous.     The  landlord  grinned. 

"That  shotgun's  double-barrelled,"  he  observed.  "Buck 
shot  in  each  barrel." 

Block  gulped  his  whisky.  The  scratch-faced  man  had 
finished  his  drink  and  was  placidly  rolling  a  cigarette. 

"Never  did  like  to  quarrel,"  he  remarked,  "special  not 
with  a  shotgun.  Mister" — to  the  landlord — "have  any 
gents  from  the  Bend  rode  in  to-day — or  yesterday?" 

"Lookin*  for  friends?"  queried  the  landlord. 

"Shore!" 

"I  thought  so.  Well,  I  can't  tell  yuh.  Yuh  see,  I  ain't 
right  well  acquainted  hereabouts.  I  dunno  everybody. 
There  might  somebody  Ja'  come  through,  an'  then  again 
there  mightn't.  I  seed  a  Injun  yest'day,  though.  Looked 
like  a  Digger.  Might  he  be  yore  partic'lar  friend?"  An  ex 
quisite  solicitude  was  in  the  landlord's  tone. 

The  other  refused  to  take  offence.  He  smiled  wryly. 
When  he  spoke,  his  words  were  without  rancour. 

"  I  can't  claim  the  Injun.  I  was  thinkin'  of  a  sport  named 
London .  Know  him  ?  " 

"I  told  yuh  I  didn't  know  many  people  round  here." 

"I  was  just  a-wonderin'.  I  was  kind  o'  anxious  to  see 
London." 

"Well,  I  dunno  nothin'  about  him." 

"There  was  a  man  here  named  Loudon,"  piped  up  the 
drummer,  perceiving  an  opportunity  of  annoying  the  land 
lord.  "He  stayed  here  all  night.  Another  man  was  with 
him,  a  very  dirty  old  character  named  Mackenzie.  I  think 
Scotty  was  his  first  name." 

"Which  way  did  they  go?"  demanded  Block. 

"They  rode  away  toward  Paradise  Bend. 

"That  drummer  can  lie  f aster 'n  a  hoss  can  trot,"  drawled 
the  landlord. 

"You  know  they  stayed  here  all  night,"  said  the  drummer 
with  a  flash  of  spirit.  "I  had  breakfast  with  them." 

The  landlord  walked  swiftly  to  the  drummer,  who  quailed. 


ROCKET  119 

"Yo're  lyin'!"  announced  the  landlord.  "Say  so.  Say 
yo're  lyin*,  yuh  pup,  or  I'll  pull  yore  neck  in  half." 

"I'm  lyin'!"  cried  the  drummer,  hastily.     "I'm  lyin'." 

"There  wasn't  nobody  here  but  you,  was  there?"  inquired 
the  landlord. 

"N-no." 

"I  guess  that's  enough.  You  see  how  reliable  this  sport  is, 
gents.  Can't  believe  a  word  he  says." 

Block  turned  toward  the  door.  The  scratch-faced  man 
winked  at  his  own  reflection  in  the  mirror  behind  the  bar  and 
stuck  his  tongue  in  his  cheek. 

"C'mon,"  said  Block. 

The  sheriff  and  his  friend  went  out  into  the  street.  The 
landlord  followed,  his  expression  one  of  pleasurable  anticipa 
tion.  Four  citizens  of  Rocket,  grouped  on  the  sidewalk, 
glumly  watched  the  two  men  as  they  swung  into  their  saddles 
and  loped  away.  The  landlord's  face  fell. 

"Say,"  he  demanded,  "why  didn't  yuh  arrest  him?" 

"Couldn't  be  did,"  replied  the  largest  of  the  quartette, 
who  wore  a  marshal's  star  on  his  vest.  "Loudon  said  his  hoss 
was  a  chestnut,  white  spot  on  nose,  didn't  he?  One  o'  them 
two  cay  uses  was  a  black,  but  the  other  was  a  bald-face  pinto. 
Nothin'  like  a  chestnut/' 

"But  Loudon  done  said  the  hoss  thief  was  ridin'  with 
Sheriff  Block." 

"That's  all  true  enough,  an'  the  party  a-ridin'  off  with 
Block  may  be  a  hoss  thief,  but  if  he  is,  he  ain't  ridin'  London's 
hoss.  An'  Loudon's  hoss  is  the  only  one  we  know  about. 
Got  to  go  by  the  hoss,  Dave." 

"Why,  looky  here,  Sim,  Loudon  described  the  feller  right 
plain.  That's  Rufe  Cutting  a-ridin'  away  there  with  Block, 
or  I'm  a  Dutchman." 

"He  may  be,"  returned  the  marshal,  equably,  "an*  if 
Loudon  was  here  an'  could  identify  him  I'd  grab  him  too 
quick.  But  unless  he's  ridin'  a  chestnut  hoss  with  a  white 
spot  on  his  nose  I  can't  arrest  him  without  a  warrant.  An* 
there  ain't  no  warrant.  See  how  it  is,  Dave?" 

"Oh,  I  see  all  right,"  mourned  the  landlord,  "an*  it  makes 


120  PARADISE  BEND 

me  sick.  Soon  as  I  seen  'em  come  in  my  place  I  says  to 
myself,  *  Here's  that  boss  thief.'  All  I  thought  of  was  that 
Loudon  said  the  sport  was  with  Block.  It  makes  me  sick. 
It  shore  does.  After  me  a-cookin'  it  all  up  with  you  to  arrest 
him!  C'mon  in  an'  have  somethin',  an'  watch  me  give  that 
drummer  the  prettiest  lickin'  he  ever  had  in  his  life." 


CHAPTER    XII 

SCOT  T Y      ADVISES 

"IT  IT  THEN  Ixmdon  and  Scotty  reached  Paradise  Bend, 
V\/  they  separated,  Scotty  going  to  the  Burrs',  while 

*  »  Loudon  strolled  leisurely  about  the  streets.  Loudon 
visited  all  the  saloons  and  drew  into  conversation  the  bar 
tenders  and  other  prominent  citizens.  In  less  than  an  hour 
he  met  Scotty  behind  the  Burr  corral. 

"Five  days  ago  an*  early  in  the  mornin',"  said  Loudon, 
"a  Seven  Lazy  Seven  boy  met  O'Leary  ridin'  the  trail  to  the 
Flyin'  M.  O'Leary  told  him,  an'  it  wasn't  none  necessary, 
that  he  was  goin'  to  Sucker  Creek.  That's  away  north  a  good 
eighty  mile. 

"Well,  that  same  day  in  the  evenin'  a  freighter,  camped  on 
the  trail  half-way  between  the  Bend  and  Rocket,  seen  O'Leary 
a-peltin'  south.  The  freighter  only  got  a  flash  at  him  by  the 
light  of  his  fire,  but  he  knowed  him  all  right,  an'  he  hollered 
a  howdy.  O'Leary  never  notices.  Just  leans  over  his 
horn  an'  keeps  a-foggin'  right  along.  There  yuh  have  it — 
the  Flyin'  M  trail  in  the  mornin',  an'  twenty-five  mile 
south  o'  the  Bend  in  the  evenin'.  Now  who  mailed  that 
letter?" 

"  It  looks  like  O'Leary,"  admitted  Scotty.  "  But  what  yuh 
goin'  to  do  about  it?  Yuh  can't  do  nothin',  Tom.  I  tell  yuh, 
yuh  got  to  wait.  Now  don't  yuh  go  projeckin'  round  O'Leary 
an'  kick  up  any  fuss.  It  won't  do  no  good,  an'  yuh  might 
reap  some  lead.  Yo're  needed  at  the  ranch,  Tom.  Just  you 
keep  that  in  mind." 

"Don't  fret.  I  ain't  goin'  to  say  nothin'  to  O'Leary — yet. 
I'll  give  him  plenty  o'  rope  to  hang  himself  with.  But  I  wish 
you'd  let  me  Injun  round  some,  Scotty.  Gimme  two  weeks, 
now.  Yuh  won't  regret  it." 

121 


122  PARADISE  BEND 

"Now,  Tom,  there  yuh  go  again.  I  need  yuh  to  home, 
I  tell  yuh." 

"Oh,  all  right;  have  it  yore  own  way.  But  if  yuh  won't 
gimme  the  two  weeks  now,  1*11  take  'em  later  on  my  own 
account.  I  aim  to  get  my  hoss  back." 

"We'll  talk  about  that  later,"  said  Scotty.  "You  go  on 
in  an*  see  Dorothy.  Y'ought  to  be  ashamed  o'  yoreself — 
stickin'  out  here  when  there's  a  pretty  little  girl  like  that  in 
the  house." 

"Thought  yuh  didn't  like  ladies  any." 

"Depends  on  the  lady.  There's  brands  an'  brands,  Tom. 
But  that  little  girl  o'  the  Cap'n's — well,  say,  she  always  makes 
a  gent  feel  right  to  home.  Wish  I  was  younger.  Yes,  sir,  I 
shore  wish  I  didn't  have  so  many  rings  on  my  horns.  I'd 
have  you  boys  runnin'  in  circles,  I  would.  Go  on  in  now, 
Tom,  an'  if  yuh  work  it  right  Mis'  Burr'll  ask  yuh  to  grub." 

London  went. 

"Just  in  time  for  supper,"  was  Mrs.  Burr's  greeting. 
"Dorothy's  out  front.  Pete  O'Leary's  here  again.  He's 
stayin'  to  supper,  too.  Thank  Heaven,  I'll  have  a  crowd  for 
once.  I  do  enjoy  seein'  folks  eat.  Say,  Tom,"  she  added, 
lowering  her  voice,  "is  O'Leary  a  friend  o'  yores?" 

"I  know  his  name,  Mis'  Burr,"  said  Loudon,  "an*  that's 
about  all." 

"Well,  I  was  just  wonderin'.  I  dunno  whether  to  like  that 
fellah  or  not.  He  strikes  me  as  bein'  conceited  a  lot.  He  al 
ways  acts  to  me  like  he  thought  every  girl  he  knowed  was  in 
love  with  him.  He's  good-lookin'  an'  all  that,  but  I  don't 
cotton  to  his  eyes.  They  look  as  if  they  was  holdin'  some- 
thin'  back  all  the  time.  See  what  I  mean?  Like  he  was 
sayin*  one  thing  an*  thinkin'  another." 

"I  see,"  Loudon  nodded.     He  understood  perfectly. 

"He  ain't  never  hung  round  Dorothy  till  lately.  But  yuh 
can't  say  nothin',  I  s'pose.  Still — oh,  well,  no  use  chatterin' 
about  it." 

Loudon  wondered  whether  Scotty  had  known  O'Leary  was 
in  the  house  when  he  urged  Loudon  to  go  in  and  see  Dorothy. 
The  presence  of  O'Leary  did  not  forecast  an  enjoyable  meal. 


SCOTTY  ADVISES  123 

"I  just  come  in  for  a  drink,  Mis'  Burr,"  said  Loudon.  "I 
wish  I  could  stay  for  supper.  Thank  yuh  kindly,  all  the  same, 
but  I  got  to  see  a  man  down  street." 

"Huh,"  grunted  Mrs.  Burr,  skeptically.  "Yuh  don't  like 
O'Leary  neither,  do  yuh?" 

"I  didn't  say  nothin'  about  that,  ma'am." 

"No,  o'  course  not.  Yuh  can't  fool  me,  Tom  Loudon. 
There's  cool  water  in  that  covered  pail.  Say,  it's  too  bad 
about  that  hoss  o'  yores.  Scotty  told  me  yuh  didn't  have  no 
luck  in  Rocket.  It  shore  is  too  bad.  He  was  a  right  good 
hoss." 

"He  is  a  good  hoss,  ma'am.  He  ain't  a  goner  yet,  by  a 
jugful.  I'll  get  him  back." 

"I  hope  so,  an'  I  hope  yuh  lynch  the  thief,  or  shoot  him 
anyway.  He  hadn't  ought  to  live  a  minute.  The  Flyin'  M 
cook,  too.  Yuh  can't  hardly  believe  it." 

Loudon  got  his  drink  and  departed.  As  he  rode  past  the 
house  he  saw  Dorothy  and  O'Leary  sitting  on  the  doorstep. 
Dorothy  waved  her  hand  and  smiled.  O'Leary  positively 
beamed.  Had  Loudon  been  his  oldest  friend  O'Leary's 
greeting  could  not  have  been  more  cordial. 

"Now  I'd  like  to  know,"  thought  Loudon,  as  he  rode  down 
the  street,  "what  license  he's  got  to  be  so  cheerful.  Is  it 
'cause  I  ain't  stayin'  to  supper,  or  is  it  'cause  he's  got  some 
other  card  up  his  sleeve?" 

"Why  didn't  you  stay  to  supper?"  chuckled  Scotty,  when 
Loudon  dropped  into  the  chair  next  him  at  the  hotel  dining- 
table. 

"I  couldn't  stand  it  to  be  away  from  you  so  long,"  retorted 
Loudon,  and  helped  himself  generously  to  the  butter. 

"I  kind  o'  thought  it  might  be  that  way.  Try  them 
pickles.  They  taste  like  they'd  been  used  for  tannin'  sad 
dles." 

Night  had  not  yet  fallen  when  Loudon  and  Scotty  started 
for  the  Flying  M.  As  they  passed  the  house  of  Big  Jim 
Mace,  Scotty  groaned. 

"Here  comes  that  female  girl  o'  Old  Salt's,"  he  whispered, 
perturbedly.  "She's  headin'  our  way.  She's  a-callin'  to 


124  PARADISE  BEND 

yuh,  Tom!  She's  a-callin'  to  yuh!  I'm  goin'  on.  I'll  wait 
for  yuh  on  the  trail." 

There  was  no  disregarding  Kate  Saltoun.  She  had  even 
stepped  out  into  the  street  in  her  efforts  to  attract  London's 
attention.  Scotty  loped  onward,  and  London  twisted  his 
horse  toward  the  sidewalk. 

"Well,"  said  Kate,  smiling  up  at  him,  "you  are  a  nice  one! 
I  believe  you'd  have  passed  right  by  without  speaking  if  I 
hadn't  called  to  you.  Come  on  in  and  see  Mrs.  Mace  and 
me.  Jim's  down  street,  and  we  want  someone  to  talk  to." 

"Just  someone?" 

Loudon  could  have  bitten  his  tongue  off  for  uttering  this 
flirty  remark.  But  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  not  help  saying 
it. 

Kate  smiled. 

"Someone  would  probably  do  for  Lil,"  she  said,  "but  I 
want  you.  I've  an  awful  lot  to  tell  you,  Tom." 

"I  can't,  Kate.  Honest,  I'd  like  to  come  in  an'  see  yuh  a 
lot.  I  shore  would.  But  I  got  to  ride  out  to  the  ranch  with 
Scotty  Mackenzie." 

"Is  that  funny  old  person  with  the  parti-coloured  sleeve 
Scotty  Mackenzie?  I've  heard  Dad  speak  of  him.  They 
never  liked  each  other,  I  believe.  Bring  him  over,  I'd  like  to 
meet  him.  Then  he  can  talk  to  Lil." 

"  That'd  be  fine,  but  yuh  see  Scotty 's  in  a  hurry  to  get  back 
to  the  ranch.  I'm  afraid  we  couldn't  manage  it  nohow." 

Kate's  face  fell.  Loudon  glanced  up  and  saw  Dorothy 
Burr  and  Pete  O'Leary  approaching.  Interest,  polite  in 
Dorothy's  case,  speculative  in  O'Leary 's,  was  manifest  in 
their  expressions.  Kate  moved  closer  to  Loudon  and  laid  a 
hand  on  the  neck  of  his  horse. 

"Tom,"  she  whispered,  "I  just  heard  what  Block  tried  to 
do.  Lil  told  me.  You  don't  believe  I  had  anything  to  do 
with  it,  do  you?" 

"Why,  no,  o'  course  I  don't." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Why,  Kate,  I  know  you  couldn't  do  a  thing  like  that. 
Don't  yuh  think  any  more  about  it." 


SCOTTY  ADVISES  125 

"I  believe  you  do,  just  the  same.  Tom,  no  matter  how 
much  I  disliked  a  person  I  wouldn't  betray  him." 

"I  believe  yuh.     Honest,  I  do." 

Dorothy  and  O'Leary  passing  at  this  juncture,  Loudon 
lifted  his  hat.  Kate  turned  and  looked  after  the  pair. 
When  her  eyes  once  more  met  London's  there  was  a  faint 
trouble  in  their  black  depths. 

"Who  are  they?"  she  queried. 

"Cap'n  Burr's  daughter  an'  Pete  O'Leary." 

"Oh."     There  was  deep  meaning  in  that  "oh." 

"She  lives  up  yonder  a  ways.  Mis'  Mace  knows  her,  I 
guess." 

"How  nice!  Perhaps  I  shall  meet  her.  I  should  like  to, 
really.  Tell  me,  do  you  know  her  well?" 

"Not  very  well.  Yuh  see,  I  ain't  in  town  such  a  lot.  Say, 
Kate,  did  Mis'  Mace  write  an*  tell  yuh  I  was  up  here  at  the 
Bend?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  she  did."  Kate's  tone  was  ingenuous. 
But  the  quick  upward  fling  of  her  eyes  was  not. 

"Did  yuh  tell  yore  father  an'  the  boys?" 

"Why,  I  don't  remember,  Tom.  I  might  have.  Very 
possibly  I  did.  Why?" 

"I  was  just  a-wonderin'." 

"You  mean "  gasped  Kate,  her  eyes  widening  with 

genuine  horror. 

At  first,  misinterpreting  the  trend  of  his  questioning,  she 
had  believed  him  brazenly  fishing.  Now  she  understood 
the  significance  underlying  his  words.  She  wanted  to  scream. 
But  half  the  street  was  watching  them.  Underlip  caught 
between  her  teeth,  she  sucked  in  her  breath.  Piteously  her 
eyes  searched  London's  face. 

" Tom ! "  she  breathed.  "Tom !  You  do  think  I  betrayed 
you  after  all.  Oh,  Tom,  Tom!" 

It  was  London's  turn  to  be  distressed. 

"Yo're  on  the  wrong  trail,  Kate,"  he  soothed.  "I  know 
yuh  didn't  tell  Block  or  the  88  outfit.  But  if  the  Bar  S  boys 
knowed  I  was  up  here  it  could  easy  get  around.  Richie  o* 
the  Cross-in-a-box  an'  Cap'n  Burr  knowed,  too.  They  might 


126  PARADISE  BEND 

V  let  it  out.  I'm  sorry  I  asked  yuh  if  it  makes  yuh  feel  that 
way." 

"  Oh,  I  see  it  now.  I  must  have  told.  And  it  was  my  telling 
that  sent  Block  up  here.  Tom,  if  he  had  taken  you  south 
and — and  anything  had  happened,  it — it  would  have  killed 
me.  Life  just  wouldn't  have  been  worth  living  any  longer." 

Was  ever  mortal  man  in  a  similar  predicament?  Here  was 
a  beautiful  woman  baring  her  heart  to  him  in  broad  daylight 
on  a  public  thoroughfare.  Cold  prickles  raced  madly  up  and 
down  London's  spine.  What  could  he  say?  He  had  a  wild 
impulse  to  whirl  his  horse  and  gallop  after  Scotty.  Obviously 
this  was  the  safer  course  to  follow.  Weakly  he  temporized. 

"Kate,  do  yuh  know  what  yo're  sayin'?" 

"Of  course.  Why  shouldn't  I  say  it?  I  love  you,  don't 
you  know  that?  There,  it's  out!  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  myself,  but  I'm  not.  I'm  glad." 

Throughout  the  latter  part  of  the  conversation  Kate  had 
barely  spoken  above  a  whisper,  but  to  Loudon  it  seemed  that 
she  fairly  shouted.  He  was  positive  that  all  the  town  had 
heard.  His  dismayed  eyes  slid  round.  He  half-expected  to 
see  Mrs.  Mace  and  her  neighbours  craning  their  necks  with 
their  hands  cupped  round  their  ears.  But  Mrs.  Mace  was 
not  visible,  and  the  score  of  people  in  view  were  not  displaying 
undue  interest.  Loudon  breathed  more  easily. 

"  Yuh — yuh "  he  stammered,  his  face  beet-red.  "  Yuh 

hadn't  ought  to  'a'  said  that." 

"Why  not?"  she  demanded,  coolly.     "It's  true." 

Her  self-possession  was  extraordinary.  She  was  not  even 
blushing.  This  was  a  Kate  that  Loudon  did  not  know.  In 
the  face  of  her  bald  assertion  he  could  not  tell  her  that  matters 
had  completely  changed;  that  he  loved  her  no  longer.  No, 
not  that.  He  realized  his  disadvantage  acutely,  and  squirmed. 
Kate  looked  expectant.  He  must  say  something,  and  quickly, 
too,  or  she  would  propose  to  him  on  the  spot. 

"I — I  got  to  be  goin'!"  he  exclaimed,  desperately. 
"Scotty's  waitin'  for  me.  Gug-gug-good-bye." 

"Good-bye,  Tom,"  said  Kate,  with  a  radiant  smile.  "I'll 
see  you  some  other  time." 


SCOTTY  ADVISES  127 

"Some  other  time!"  groaned  Loudon,  as  he  galloped  down 
the  street.  "Some  other  time!  She  will,  too.  An'  what '11 
I  do?  What'll  I  do?  I  don't  like  her  any  more.  I  don't 
like  her  a  little  bit.  This  is  shore  one  helluva  of  a  fix!" 

"What  did  she  do  to  yuh?"  inquired  Scotty,  when  Loudon 
joined  him. 

"Do  to  me!    What  do  you  mean?" 

"Yuh  look  like  yuh'd  just  missed  being  hugged  to  death  by 
a  b'ar.  No  offence,  Tom,  but  yuh  sure  do  look  a  heap  shiv 
ery." 

"It's  them  pickles  I  had  for  supper,  Scotty.  I  knowed 
they'd  make  me  sick." 

"They  was  rich,  for  a  fact." 

They  loped  in  silence  for  a  half -hour. 

"Scotty,"  said  Loudon,  suddenly,  "if  anybody  comes  out 
to  the  ranch  a-lookin'  for  me,  tell  'em  I've  pulled  my  freight 
yuh  dunno  where." 

"Anybody?"     Scotty  quirked  an  eyebrow. 

"Anybody — man,  woman,  or  child." 

"Well,  say,  look  here,  Tom!"  exclaimed  Scotty  in  alarm. 
"Yuh  don't  mean  to  say  that  Miss  Saltoun  girl  is  a-comin' 
outtotheFlyin'M." 

"I  dunno.     I  hope  not." 

"Which  I  hope  not,  too.  She's  so  good-lookin'  she  scares 
me,  she  does.  I  don't  want  to  go  nowheres  near  her,  an'  I 
won't,  neither.  No,  sirree.  If  she  ever  comes  a-traipsin'  out 
to  the  ranch  yuh  can  do  yore  own  talkin'." 

"Aw,  keep  yore  shirt  on.  I  guess  now  she  won't 
come." 

"I'll  bet  she's  a-aimin'  to,  or  yuh  wouldn't  'a'  said  what 
yuh  did.  Yuh  can't  fool  me,  Tom.  She'll  come,  an*  she'll 
bring  Jim  Mace's  wife  along  for  a  chaperon,  an'  they'll  most 
likely  stay  for  two  meals,  an'  I'll  have  to  grub  in  the  corral. 
Great  note  this  is !  Druv  out  o'  my  own  home  by  a  couple  o' 
female  women! 

"Laugh!  It's  awful  funny!  I  never  could  abide  Mis' 
Mace,  either.  She's  always  talkin',  talkin'.  Talk  the  hide 
off  a  cow,  an'  not  half  try.  How  Jim  stands  her  I  can't  see 


128  PARADISE  BEND 

nohow.  If  she  was  my  woman  I'd  feed  her  wolf-pizen,  or  take 
it  myself." 

"I  guess  now  yuh  never  was  married,  was  yuh,  Scotty?" 

"Me  married!  Well,  I  guess  not!  Come  mighty  close  to 
it  once.  I  must  'a'  been  crazy  or  drunk,  or  somethin' — 
anyway,  when  I  was  a  young  feller  over  east  in  Macpherson, 
Kansas,  me  an'  Sue  Shimmers  had  it  all  fixed  for  hitchin'  up 
together.  Nice  girl,  Sue  was.  Good  cook,  a  heap  energetic, 
an'  right  pretty  in  the  face.  The  day  before  the  weddin' 
Sue  cuts  stick  an'  elopes  with  Tug  Wilson,  the  blacksmith. 

"I  felt  bad  for  mighty  nigh  a  week,  but  I've  been  a  heap 
joyous  ever  since.  Yes,  sir,  Sue  developed  a  lot  after  mar 
riage.  Why,  if  Tug  took  so  much  as  one  finger  of  old  Jordan 
Sue'd  wallop  him  with  a  axe-handle.  Poor  old  Tug  used  to 
chew  up  so  many  cloves  he  got  dyspepsy.  Between  the  axe- 
handle  an'  the  dyspepsy  Tug  had  all  he  could  swing  to  keep 
alive.  I've  never  stopped  bein'  grateful  to  Tug  Wilson. 
He  saved  my  life.  Yes,  sir,  as  a  rule,  females  is  bad  medi 
cine." 

"How  about  Mis'  Burr  an*  her  daughter?" 

"I  said  as  a  general  rule.  Like  I  told  yuh  once  before, 
Mis'  Burr  an'  Dorothy  are  real  ladies,  all  silk  an'  several 
yards  wide.  A  gent  can  talk  to  them  just  like  folks.  An' 
Dorothy  can  have  my  ranch  an'  every  cayuse  on  it,  includin' 
my  mules,  any  time  she  wants.  Nothin's  too  good  for  that 
little  girl." 

"She's  shore  a  winner." 

"She's  all  o'  that.  Now  there's  a  girl  that'll  make  a  ace- 
high  wife.  She  wouldn't  use  no  axe-handle.  She'd  under 
stand  a  gent's  failin's,  she  would,  an'  she'd  break  him  off  'em 
so  nice  an'  easy  he  wouldn't  know  nothin'  about  it.  Yes, 
sir,  the  party  that  gets  Dorothy  Burr  needn't  worry  none 
'bout  bein'  happy." 

"I  guess  now  there  ain't  no  party  real  shore-enough  fit  to 
make  her  a  husband." 

"There  ain't.  No,  sir,  yuh  can  bet  there  ain't.  But  she'll 
marry  some  no-account  tinhorn — them  kind  always  does. 
Say,  why  don't  you  make  up  to  her?" 


SCOTTY  ADVISES  129 

"Well,  I  would,"  said  Loudon,  gravely,  "only  yuh  see  it 
wouldn't  be  proper.  I  ain't  a  no-account  tinhorn." 

"You  ain't,  but  O'Leary  is." 

"It  ain't  gone  as  far  as  that!" 

"Yuh  never  can  tell  how  far  anythin's  gone  with  a  woman. 
Yuh  never  can  tell  nothin'  about  her  till  it  happens.  She's  a 
heap  unexpected,  a  female  is.  Now  I  don't  say  as  Dorothy 'd 
marry  yuh,  Torn.  Yuh  may  not  be  her  kind  o'  feller  at  all. 
But  yo're  a  sight  better'n  Pete  O'Leary." 

"Thanks,"  said  Loudon,  dryly. 

"Then  again,"  rushed  on  Scotty,  deeply  engrossed  in  his 
subject,  "it  ain't  noways  necessary  for  yuh  to  marry  her. 
All  yuh  got  to  do  is  give  O'Leary  the  run.  Chase  him  off — 
see?  I've  been  thinkin'  some  serious  o'  doin'  it  myself,  but 
I'd  have  to  beef  him,  an'  that  wouldn't  suit  Dorothy.  A  lady 
don't  like  it  none  to  have  her  admirers  shot  up.  It  only 
makes  her  more  set  to  have  'em.  But  you,  Tom,  could  go 
about  it  in  a  nice,  refined  way,  an'  get  Dorothy  to  likin'  yuh 
better'n  she  does  O'Leary,  an'  there  yuh  are.  No  blood's 
spilt,  an'  the  lady  is  saved." 

"But  s'pose  she  didn't  cotton  to  me  for  a  cent?" 

"Yuh  got  to  risk  that,  o'  course.  But  you  can  win  out 
over  O'Leary,  I'll  gamble  on  that." 

"But  why  am  I  elected?     Why  me  at  all?" 

"Well,  say,  yuh'd  ought  to  be  ashamed  o'  yoreself,  raisin' 
objections  thisaway.  Here  I  am,  try  in'  to  help  out  as  nice  a 
little  girl  as  ever  breathed,  an'  yuh  got  to  kick.  Selfish,  I  call 
it.  Can't  yuh  see  I'm  try  in'  to  do  you  a  good  turn,  too? 
There's  gratitude  for  yuh!  Well,  it's  like  I  always  said: 
Old  folks  is  never  appreciated,  no  matter  what  they  do.  Yes, 
sir,  I  might  'a'  saved  my  breath.  Dorothy,  she  talked  just 
like  you  do,  only  worse." 

"What — why,  you  ain't  been  talkin'  about  this  to  Dor — 
Miss  Burr,  have  yuh?"  demanded  Loudon  in  horror. 

"Why,  shore  I  did,"  said  Scotty,  placidly.  "I  feel  like  a 
father  to  her,  so  why  not?  I  didn't  say  much.  I  just  told 
her  O'Leary  was  a  pup  an'  a  sheepman  an'  not  fit  for  her  to 
wipe  her  feet  on,  an'  why  didn't  she  take  a  shine  to  some  other 


130  PABADISE  BEND 

gent  for  a  change?  She  says,  'Who,  for  instance?'  An*  I 
says,  'Tom  Loudon,'  an*  that's  as  far  as  I  got.  She  goes  up 
in  the  air  like  a  pony,  instanter." 

"Which  I  should  say  she  might.  You  had  yore  nerve, 
ringin'  me  into  it!  Ain't  yuh  got  no  sense  at  all?" 

"Lots.  Yo're  the  witless  one.  If  yuh  had  any  brains 
yuh'd  take  my  advice." 

"I  can't  now,  even  if  I  wanted  to." 

"Shore  yuh  can.  She  spoke  to  yuh  all  right  this  aft 'noon, 
didn't  she?" 

"Yes,  but " 

"Well,  I'd  given  her  my  opinion  o'  things  just  about  twenty 
minutes  before  yuh  met  me  at  the  corral.  So,  yuh  see,  she 
wasn't  mad  at  you.  She  wasn't  really  mad  at  me.  I  seen 
the  twinkle  in  her  eye  all  the  time  she  was  givin'  me  fits. 
Why,  look  here,  Tom,  when  she  says,  'Who,  for  instance?'  I 
couldn't  think  o'  nobody  but  you.  It  was  impulse,  it  was, 
an'  impulses  are  always  right.  Wouldn't  be  impulses  if  they 
wasn't. 

"So  there  y'are.  Yuh  don't  have  to  marry  each  other  if 
yuh  don't  want  to.  Shore  not.  But  yuh'd  ought  to  give 
each  other  a  whirl  anyway.  Yuh  might  hit  it  off  amazin'. 
I'm  bettin'  yuh  will,  I  don't  care  what  either  o'  yuh  say." 

Loudon,  divided  between  anger  and  horrified  amazement, 
was  speechless.  Scotty  Mackenzie  was  more  than  astound 
ing.  He  was  hopelessly  impossible. 

"Well,"  remarked  Loudon,  when  he  was  able  to  speak, 
"yuh  sure  are  three  kings  an'  an  ace  when  it  comes  to  other 
people's  business.  Some  day,  Scotty,  yuh'll  go  bulgin* 
into  the  affairs  o'  some  party  who  don't  understand  yore 
funny  little  ways,  an'  he'll  hang  yore  hide  on  the  fence." 

"I  s'pose  likely,"  said  Scotty,  glumly.  "It  shore  is  a  un 
grateful  world.  But,"  he  added,  brightening,  "yuh'll  do 
what  I  say,  won't  yuh,  Tom?  I  tell  yuh  I  know  best.  I've 
sort  o'  cottoned  to  yuh  ever  since  I  found  out  who  yuh  was 
an'  all,  an'  I  always  did  like  Dorothy  Burr.  Here's  you,  an' 
there  she  is.  Why,  it's  Providence,  Tom,  Providence;  an' 
nobody  has  a  right  to  fly  in  the  face  o'  Providence.  Yuh 


SCOTTY  ADVISES  131 

won't  never  have  no  luck  if  yuh  do.  I  ask  yuh  like  a  friend, 
Tom — an'  I  hadn't  ought  to  have  to  ask  yuh,  not  with  such 
a  good-looker  as  Dorothy — I  ask  yuh  like  a  friend  to  go  see 
this  little  girl,  an' " 

"An'  prove  yo're  right,"  interrupted  Loudon. 

"Well,  yes.  Though  I  know  I'm  right,  an'  I  tell  yuh  plain 
if  you  two  don't  hook  up  for  keeps  yuh '11  be  sorry.  Yes,  sir, 
yuh  will.  Now  don't  say  nothin',  Tom.  Just  think  it 
over,  an'  if  yuh  want  any  help  come  to  me." 

"Yuh  make  me  sick.     Yuh  shore  do." 

"Think  it  over.    Think  it  over." 

"Think  nothin'  over!  I  ain't  in  love  with  Miss  Burr,  an' 
I  ain't  a-goin'  to  be.  Yuh  can  gamble  on  that,  old-timer. 
As  a  woman-wrangler  I'm  a  good  hoss  an'  cowman,  an'  here 
after  from  now  on  I'm  a-stickin'  to  what  I  know  best." 

Loudon  relapsed  into  sulky  silence.  Yet  for  the  life  of 
him  he  could  not  be  wholly  angry  with  Scotty  Mackenzie. 
No  one  could.  Scotty  was  Scotty,  and,  where  another  man 
would  have  been  shot,  Scotty  went  scatheless. 

"Slick!"  said  Scotty,  ten  minutes  after  arriving  at  the 
Flying  M;  "Slick,  I  guess  yes.  The  feller  that  wrote  that 
letter  knowed  my  writin'  better 'n  I  do  myself.  Don't  blame 
yuh  a  mite,  Doubleday,  for  bein'  fooled.  Don't  blame  yuh  a 
mite. 

"I'll  fix  this  trick  for  good  and  all.  Hereafter  I  don't 
write  no  more  letters  to  yuh,  see?  Then  if  our  forgin'  brother 
takes  his  pen  in  hand  again  it  won't  do  him  no  good.  .  .  . 
What?  No,  I'm  too  sleepy.  You  go  down  an'  ask  Loudon. 
He  was  the  centre  o'  curiosity,  an'  he  knows  more  about  that 
riot  at  the  Bend  than  I  do." 

When  Doubleday  had  gone  Scotty  Mackenzie  did  not  act 
like  a  person  overcome  by  sleep.  He  lit  a  cigarette,  slid  down 
in  his  chair,  and  put  his  feet  on  the  desk. 

"Yo're  a  great  man,  Scotty,"  he  chuckled.  "Yes,  sir, 
I  dunno  as  I  ever  seen  yore  like.  I  didn't  know  yuh  was  such 
a  deeplomat.  No,  sir,  I  shore  didn't." 

But  Mr.  Mackenzie  did  not  realize  that  Loudon  in  his 


132  PARADISE  BEND 

statements  regarding  possible  affection  for  Miss  Dorothy 
Burr  meant  exactly  what  he  said. 

On  the  corral  fence  Loudon  sat  with  Telescope  Laguerre 
and  related  his  adventures.  The  half-breed  hearkened  sym 
pathetically.  Occasionally  he  removed  the  cigarette  from 
his  lips  in  order  to  swear. 

"And,"  said  Loudon  in  conclusion,  "I'm  goin'  south  after 
the  little  hoss  in  two  or  three  weeks." 

"Queet?" 

"Yep." 

"I  queet,  too.     I  go  wit'  you." 

"What  for?     No  need  o'  you  losin'  yore  job,  too." 

" de  job!  I  been  here  long  tarn — two,  free  year. 

I  wan'  for  move  along  un  see  w'at  happen  een  de  worl'.  Een 
you'  beesness,  two  gun  ees  better  dan  only  wan.  Are  you 
me?" 

"Oh,  I'm  you  all  right  enough.  I'll  be  glad  to  have  yuh 
with  me,  Telescope,  but " 

"Den  dat  ees  settle',"  interrupted  Telescope,  his  eyes  glit 
tering  in  the  glow  of  his  cigarette.  "Wen  you  go,  I  go,  un 
togedder  we  weel  geet  de  leetle  hoss.  Ah,  my  frien',  eet  ees 
de  luck  I  have  you  to  go  wit'.  I  been  knowin'  for  week  now 
I  mus'  go  soon." 

"Gettin' restless?" 

Telescope  nodded,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  far-away  line  of 
saw-toothed  mountains  black  against  the  stars.  When  he 
spoke,  his  voice  had  altered. 

"Tom,  de  ole  tarn  have  come  back  to  me,  un  w'en  de  old 

tarn  do  dat  I  can  not  stay.  I  mus' My  frien',  have 

you  evair  love  a  woman?" 

"Once  I  did." 

"Den  you  weel  understan'.  Wan  tarn,  fifteen  year  ago, 
I  have  woman.  I  have  odder  woman  now  un  den — five,  six 
mabbe,  but  dey  was  Enjun  un  breed.  Dees  woman  she  was 
not  Enjun.  She  was  Frangaise,  un  we  was  marry  un  leeve 
over  on  de  Sweetwatair  Riviere  near  de  Medicine  Mountain. 

"Well,  we  was  happy,  she  un  me,  un  I  was  hunt  de  buffalo 
for  Ole  Man  Rantoul.  Rantoul  she  have  de  post  dere  on  de 


SCOTTY  ADVISES  133 

Sweetwatair.  Dere  was  odder  men  keel  de  buffalo  for  Ran 
toul,  un  wan  of  dese  men  she  see  my  wife  Marie  w'en  she  go 
wit'  me  to  de  post.  Dees  man  she  yong  man  name'  Taylor — 
Pony  George  dey  call  heem,  'cause  she  was  all  tarn  bust  de 
pony. 

"Well,  wan  tarn  I  go  'way  two — t'ree  week,  mabbe.  I 
come  home  een  de  afternoon.  No  leetle  dog  she  play  'roun' 
de  log-house.  No  smoke  from  de  chimeny.  No  Marie  she 
stan'  at  de  door. 

"I  go  queeck  to  de  house.  Leetle  dog  lie  dead  in  front  de 
door.  Door  shut.  I  go  een.  I  fin'  Marie — I  fin'  Marie!" 
A  wild,  fierce  note  crept  into  the  low  monotone.  "I  fin' 
my  Marie  on  de  floor.  She  varree  weak,  but  she  can  talk 
leetle.  She  tell  me  w'at  happen.  Two  day  before  I  geet 
back  Pony  George  come  to  de  log-house.  Pony  George  she 
try  for  mak'  de  love  to  my  wife.  Marie  she  go  for  rifle. 
Pony  George  geet  de  rifle  firs'.  Dog  try  for  bite  heem. 
Pony  George  keeck  de  dog  out  un  shoot  heem. 

"My  wife  she  grab  de  knife.  She  fight.  But  Pony 
George  strong  man.  Get  cut  leetle,  but  not  bad.  He — he — 
well,  I  can  do  nothin'  for  my  wife.  Nex'  day  she  die. 

"I  ride  to  de  post  of  Ole  Man  Rantoul.  Pony  George 
not  dere.  Rantoul  say  Pony  George  go  'way  t'ree  day  before 
— not  come  back.  I  go  after  Pony  George.  I  not  fin'  heem. 
I  go  sout'  to  de  Nation.  I  go  to  Dakota.  I  go  all  de  way 
from  Canaday  to  de  Rio  Grande.  Five  year  I  heet  de  trail, 
but  I  never  fin'  Pony  George. 

"Now  I  work  on  de  ranch,  but  always  I  can  not  stay. 
W'en  de  ole  tarn  come  back  I  mus'  go.  Well,  my  frien',  some 
day  I  fin'  Pony  George,  un  w'en  dat  day  come  I  weel  hang 
hees  hair  on  my  bridle.  Ah,  I  weel  keel  dat  man — keel  heem 
slow,  so  she  weel  have  plenty  tarn  for  see  hees  deat'  before 
she  die." 

Abruptly  Telescope  Laguerre  slipped  down  to  the  ground 
and  vanished  in  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE      DANCE 

A  WEEK  later,  while  the  outfit  was  eating  supper, 
Swing  Tunstall  burst  yelling  into  the  bunkhouse. 
He  flung  his  hat  on  the  floor  and  thudded  into  his 
seat. 

"Dance!"  he  whooped,  hammering  on  the  table  with  his 
knife  and  fork.  "Dance!  Big  dance!  Down  at  the  Bend. 
Next  week.  Saturday  night.  They're  a-goin'  to  have  it  in 
the  hotel.  Hooray!" 

"Pass  him  the  beans,  quick!"  shouted  Doubleday.  "Get 
him  to  eatin'  before  the  roof  pulls  loose.  When  djuh  say  it 
was,  Swing?" 

"Saturday  night,  next  week.  Butter,  butter,  who's  got 
the  grease?  An'  the  canned  cow.  That's  the  stuffy.  Say, 
that's  gonna  be  a  reg'lar  elephant  of  a  dance,  that  is.  They's 
a  new  girl  in  town — I  seen  her.  She's  stayin'  at  Mis'  Mace's, 
an*  she's  as  pretty  as  a  royal  flush.  Miss  Kate  Saltoun  her 
name  is,  an'  she's  from  the  Bar  S  down  on  the  Lazy  River." 

"We'll  all  go,"  announced  Doubleday. 

"You  bet  we  will,"  said  Giant  Morton.  "Swing,  where's 
that  necktie  o'  mine  yuh  borried  last  week? — yes,  the  red  one. 
You  know  the  one  I  mean.  You  wanted  it  so's  yuh  could 
make  a  hit  with  that  hash-slinger  at  the  hotel.  Can't  fool  me, 
yuh  old  tarrapin.  Where  is  it?" 

"I'll  git  it  for  yuh  later,"  gurgled  Tunstall,  his  mouth  full. 
"  I  don't  guess  I  lost  it.  Ca'm  yoreself .  Giant,  ca'm  yoreself . 
What's  a  necktie?" 

"Don't  guess  yuhVe  lost  it!  Well,  I  like  that!  I  paid  a 
dollar  six  bits  for  that  necktie  down  at  the  Chicago  Store. 
There  ain't  another  like  it  in  the  territory.  Ragsdale  said  so 
himself.  You  gimme  that  necktie  or  I'll  pizen  yore  bronc." 

134 


THE  DANCE  135 

"Goin'  to  de  Bend  to-morrow?"  inquired  Telescope  of 
Loudon,  when  they  were  riding  the  range  the  day  before  the 
dance. 

"I  don't  guess  so.  I  don't  feel  just  like  dancin'.  Don't 
enjoy  it  like  I  used  to.  Gettin'  old,  I  guess." 

"I'm  goin',  but  not  to  de  dance  een  de  hotel.  I'm  goin' 
to  de  dance  hall  ,un  I  weel  play  de  pokair,  too.  Ah,  I  weel 
have  de  good  tarn.  W'y  not  you  come  wit*  me?" 

"Maybe  I  will.  See  how  I  feel  to-morrow.  I'm  goin' 
to  pull  my  freight  next  week  sometime.  Got  an  engagement 
in  Farewell  in  five  weeks  or  so,  an'  I  want  to  find  the  little 
hoss  before  then." 

"We'll  fin'  heem,  you  un  me.  I  am  ready  any  tarn  you 
say." 

That  evening  Scotty  Mackenzie  halted  Loudon  on  his 
way  to  the  bunkhouse. 

"Goin'  to  the  dance,  Tom?"  queried  Scotty. 

"I'm  goin'  to  the  Bend,  but  no  dance  in  mine." 

"Say,  you  make  me  sick!  Dorothy '11  be  at  that  dance, 
an'  yuh'll  hurt  her  feelin's  if  yuh  don't  go.  She'll  think  yuh 
don't  want  to  dance  with  her  or  some  thin'." 

"I  can't  help  what  she  thinks,  can  I?  I  don't  have  to  go 
to  that  dance." 

"  Yuh  don't  have  to,  o'  course  not,  but  yuh  got  to  think  o* 
other  folks.  Why,  only  day  before  yesterday  when  I  was  at 
the  Bend  she  was  askin'  after  yuh,  an*  I  told  her  yuh'd  shore 
see  her  at  the  dance." 

"Yuh  did,  did  yuh?  All  right,  I'm  goin'  to  the  Bend  to 
morrow  with  the  rest  o'  the  boys,  but  I've  got  a  little  poker 
game  in  mind.  The  dance  is  barred,  Scotty." 

"Oh,  all  right.  Have  it  yore  own  way.  I'm  only  tryin* 
to  help  yuh  out.  Say,  Tom,  y'ain't  still  thinkin'  o'  goin' 
away,  are  yuh?  Yuh  can  have  that  bay  like  I  said,  an' 
another  pony,  too,  if  yuh  like.  Yuh  see,  I  want  yuh  to 
stay  here  at  the  Flyin'  M.  I'm  hard  up  for  men  now, 
an' " 

"Say,"  interrupted  Loudon,  on  whom  a  great  light  had 
suddenly  dawned,  "say,  is  that  why  yo're  so  anxious  to  have 


136  PARADISE  BEND 

me  go  see  Miss  Burr,  huh?  So  I'll  fall  in  love  with  her,  an* 
stay  here,  huh?  Is  that  it?" 

"Why,  Tom,  o'  course  not,"  denied  Scotty,  indignantly. 
"I  wasn't  thinkin'  o'  such  a  thing." 

"I  ain't  none  so  shore,  Scotty.  It  sounds  just  like 
yuh." 

"Well,  it  ain't  like  me  nohow.  Yo're  wrong,  Tom,  all 
wrong  as  usual.  Suit  yoreself  about  the  dance,  suit  yoreself . 
I  got  nothin'  more  to  say.  Here's  a  letter  come  for  yuh 
to-day." 

Scotty  handed  the  letter  to  Loudon  and  departed,  offended 
dignity  in  the  set  of  his  shoulders.  The  pose  was  assumed, 
and  Loudon  knew  it.  When  next  they  met,  Scotty  would 
reopen  his  favourite  issue  as  usual. 

"Now  how  did  he  guess  it?"  wondered  Scotty,  gloomily, 
kicking  the  pebbles  on  his  way  to  the  office.  "How  did  he 
guess  the  truth,  I'd  like  to  know?  An'  he's  goin'  away  after 
all!  The  best  man  in  the  outfit!  I  got  to  do  somethin', 
that's  a  cinch." 

Poor  Scotty!  So  must  Machiavelli  have  felt  when  one  of 
his  dearest  schemes  was  upset  by  some  clever  Florentine. 

Left  alone,  Loudon  tore  open  the  letter.     It  ran: 

Dere  frend  lowden  Id  uv  rote  sooner  only  Ive  been  sick  fele  bad 
stil  sene  things  fur  a  weak  but  I  can  rite  now  anyhow.  Wei,  after 
you  an  Mackenzy  lef  in  the  afternoon  Block  an  the  uther  fellar  rid 
in.  I  noed  the  uther  fellar  what  stole  yore  boss  cause  he  looked 
just  like  you  sed  hed  look  but  the  hoss  he  was  ridin  wasnt  yore  hoss 
he  was  sumbuddy  elses  hoss  I  dunno  whoos  yet.  Wen  I  sene  Block 
an  him  I  had  it  all  fixed  up  with  the  marshul  to  arest  the  uther  fellar 
but  the  hoss  wasnt  yourn  it  was  a  bawlface  pinto  so  the  marshal 
couldnt  arest  him  without  a  warant.  Block  an  him  rode  away 
on  the  trail  to  Farewel.  Block  tride  to  find  out  bout  you  an  Scotty 
and  that  drummer  told  him  how  you  an  Scotty  had  rid  back  to  the 
Bend.  Wei,  I  knoked  the  drummer  down  an  stepped  on  his  face 
an  throwed  him  into  the  waterin-troff  an  kiked  him  three  times 
roun  the  house.  Im  lookin  out  for  yore  hoss  wen  I  see  him  III  let 
you  noe  hopin  this  fines  you  like  it  leeves  me  yore  frien  Dave 
Sinclair. 


THE  DANCE  137 

Dave  Sinclair  was  the  landlord  of  the  hotel  in  Rocket. 
Loudon  re-read  the  letter  and  swore  whole-heartedly.  To 
miss  Rufe  Cutting  by  a  few  hours!  Riding  a  bald-faced 
pinto,  was  he?  What  had  he  done  with  Ranger?  Loudon 
went  to  the  bunkhouse  in  a  brown  study. 

Scotty  alone  of  the  Flying  M  outfit  elected  to  remain  at 
the  ranch  the  night  of  the  dance.  All  the  others  raced  into 
town  before  sunset.  At  the  ford  of  the  Dogsoldier  they  met 
the  Seven  Lazy  Seven  boys  from  beyond  the  Government 
Hills.  Doubleday  greeted  Dawson,  the  Seven  Lazy  Seven 
foreman,  with  a  long  wolf-howl.  Whooping  and  yelling, 
the  riders  squattered  across  the  creek  and  poured  into 
Paradise  Bend,  the  wild-eyed  ponies  rocketing  like  jack- 
rabbits. 

It  was  an  expansive  evening  in  the  Bend.  The  corrals  were 
full  of  ponies  bearing  on  their  hips  the  brands  of  the  Two 
Bar,  TVU,  Double  Diamond  K,  Wagonwheel,  and  half-a- 
dozen  other  ranches.  In  the  hotel  corral  where  the  Flying  M 
outfit  unsaddled,  Loudon  saw  horses  belonging  to  the  Barred 
O  and  the  T  up-and-down,  which  ranches  were  a  score  of 
miles  southwest  of  Rocket. 

The  men  of  the  various  outfits  circulated  rapidly  from 
saloon  to  saloon.  By  midnight  many  would  be  drunk.  But 
there  were  several  hours  before  midnight. 

Loudon  and  Telescope  left  their  comrades  lining  up  at  the 
hotel  bar  and  gravitated  to  the  Three  Card.  Here  they  found 
Jim  Mace  and  Marshal  Dan  Smith,  who  hailed  them  both 
with  marked  cordiality.  They  drank  together,  and  Jim 
Mace  suggested  a  little  game.  Telescope's  eyes  began  to 
gleam,  and  Loudon  perceived  that  his  friend  was  lost  to  him 
for  that  evening.  Loudon  was  in  no  mood  for  poker,  so  the 
three  prevailed  upon  a  gentleman  from  the  Barred  O  to  make 
a  fourth,  and  retired  to  an  empty  table  in  the  corner  of  the 
room.  Loudon  remained  standing  at  the  bar,  regarding  the 
rows  of  bottles  on  the  shelves  and  gloomily  pondering  the  exi 
gencies  of  life. 

"Cards  no  good,"  he  reflected.  "Dancin*  the  same. 
Nothin'  goes  good  no  more.  Even  licker  don't  taste 


138  PARADISE  BEND 

like  it  used  to.  Guess  I  better  have  another  an*  make 
.shore." 

He  had  another.  After  a  time  he  felt  better,  and  decided 
to  look  in  at  the  dance.  From  the  open  windows  of  the  hotel 
issued  sounds  of  revelry — the  shuffle  and  pound  of  boot- 
leather  and  the  inspiring  strains  of  the  " Arkansaw  Traveller" 
played  by  two  fiddlers  sitting  on  a  table. 

Loudon,  his  hat  pulled  forward,  leaned  his  chest  against 
a  windowsill  and  peered  over  the  fat  shoulders  of  Mrs.  Rags- 
dale  and  a  freighter's  wife,  who  were  enjoying  the  festivities 
with  such  zest  that  the  chairs  they  sat  in  were  on  the  point 
of  collapse. 

Kate  Saltoun  and  Dorothy  Burr  were  dancing  in  the  same 
,set.  Dawson  of  the  Seven  Lazy  Seven  was  Kate's  partner, 
and  Pete  O'Leary  swung  Dorothy.  Loudon  was  struck  by 
the  fact  that  Kate  was  not  smiling.  Her  movements,  like 
wise,  lacked  a  certain  springiness  which  was  one  of  her  salient 
characteristics . 

"Somebody  must  'a'  stepped  on  her  toe,"  decided  Loudon. 
"Bet  she  don't  dance  with  Dawson  again." 

She  didn't.  Marshal  Dan  Smith,  perspiring  and  painfully 
conscious  of  a  hard  shirt  and  a  forest-fire  necktie,  was  her  next 
partner.  Loudon  wondered  why  he  had  not  hitherto  perceived 
the  marked  resemblance  between  Dan  Smith  and  a  jack- 
rabbit.  He  found  himself  speculating  on  Kate's  reasons  for 
breaking  her  engagement.  As  he  looked  at  Kate,  her  ex 
treme  beauty,  contrasted  with  that  of  the  other  girls  in  the 
room,  was  striking. 

"Kate  is  certainly  a  heap  good-looker." 

Mrs.  Ragsdale  and  the  freighter's  wife  turned  sharply 
and  stared  open-mouthed  at  Loudon.  Not  till  then  did 
that  young  man  realize  that  he  had  voiced  aloud  his 
estimate  of  Kate  Saltoun.  He  fled  hurriedly,  his  skin 
prickling  all  over,  and  dived  into  the  kindly  darkness  behind 
the  corral. 

"Now  I  have  done  it!"  he  mourned,  bitterly,  squatting  on 
the  ground.  "Those  old  tongue-wagglers  heard  me,  an' 
they'll  tell  her.  I  seen  it  in  their  faces.  What'll  she  think 


THE  DANCE  139 

o'  me.  Luck!  There  ain't  no  such  thing.  If  all  the  rocks 
was  tobacco  an'  all  the  grass  cigarette-papers,  I'd  be  there 
without  a  match." 

From  the  hotel  drifted  thinly  the  lilt  of  "Buffalo 
Girls."  A  bevy  of  convivial  beings  in  the  street  were 
bawling  "The  Days  of  Forty-Nine."  Across  the  discord 
ant  riot  of  sound  cut  the  sudden  clipping  drum  of  a  galloping 
pony. 

"Injuns!"  shouted  a  voice.     "Injuns!" 

Loudon  sprang  up  and  dashed  around  the  corral.  In  the 
flare  of  light  from  the  hotel  doorway  a  dusty  man  sat  a  dustier 
horse.  The  man  was  hatless,  his  dark  hair  was  matted  with 
dirt  and  sweat,  and  his  eyes  were  wild. 

"Injuns!"  cried  the  dusty  man.  "Injuns  on  Hatchet 
Creek!  I  want  help!" 

In  thirty  seconds  there  was  a  fair-sized  group  surrounding 
the  horseman.  In  a  minute  and  a  half  the  group  had  become 
a  crowd.  Up  bustled  Marshal  Dan  Smith  followed  by  Tele 
scope  Laguerre,  Jim  Mace,  and  the  gentleman  from  the  Barred 
O.  Loudon,  first  on  the  scene,  was  jammed  against  the  rider's 
stirrup. 

"Gents,"  the  dusty  man  was  saying,  "my  three  pardners 
are  a-standin'  off  the  war-whoops  in  a  shack  over  by  Johnson's 
Peak  on  Hatchet  Creek.  There's  more'n  a  hundred  o'  them 
feather-dusters  an'  they'll  have  my  pardners'  hair  if  yuh 
don't  come  a-runnin'." 

"Johnson's  Peak!"  exclaimed  Jim  Mace.  "That's  fifty 
mile  away!" 

"All  o'  that,"  assented  the  dusty  man,  wearily,  without 
turning  his  head.  "For  God's  sake,  gents,  do  somethin', 
can't  yuh?  An'  gimme  a  fresh  hoss." 

Already  three  quarters  of  his  hearers  were  streaking  home 
ward  for  their  Winchesters  and  saddles.  The  men  from  the 
ranches  were  the  last  to  move  away.  No  need  for  them  to 
hurry.  The  few  who  had  brought  rifles  to  the  Bend  had  left 
them  with  their  saddles  at  the  various  corrals. 

Within  half  an  hour  the  dusty  man,  mounted  on  one  of 
the  marshal's  ponies,  was  heading  a  posse  composed  of  every 


I 

140  PARADISE  BEND 

available  man  in  Paradise  Bend.  Only  the  marshal  and  two 
men  who  were  sick  remained  behind. 

The  posse,  a  column  of  black  and  bobbing  shapes  in  the 
starlight,  loped  steadily.  Many  of  the  ponies  had  travelled 
twenty  and  thirty  miles  that  day,  and  there  were  fifty  more 
to  pass  under  their  hoofs.  The  average  cow-horse  is  a  hardy 
brute  and  can  perform  miracles  of  work  when  called  upon. 
Secure  in  this  knowledge,  the  riders  fully  intended  to  ride 
out  their  mounts  to  the  last  gasp. 

Doubleday  and  Dawson  rode  stirrup  to  stirrup  with  the 
man  from  Hatchet  Creek.  Tailing  these  three  were  Loudon, 
Telescope  Laguerre,  the  Barred  O  puncher,  and  Jim  Mace. 

"How'd  yuh  get  through,  stranger?"  queried  Doubleday. 

"I  dunno,"  said  the  dusty  man.  "I  jus*  did.  I  had  to. 
It  was  make  or  break.  Them  war-whoops  chased  me  quite  a 
spell." 

"You  was  lucky,"  observed  Dawson. 

"  Yo're  whistlin'  I  was.  We  was  all  lucky  when  it  comes  to 
that.  We  was  at  the  shack  eatin'  dinner  when  they  jumped 
us.  S'pose  we'd  been  down  the  creek  where  our  claims  is  at, 
huh?" 

"Yo're  hair  would  shore  be  decoratin'  a  Injun  bridle," 
admitted  Dawson.  "But  I  didn't  know  there  was  gold  on 
Hatchet  Creek." 

"We  got  four  claims,"  said  the  dusty  man,  shortly. 

"Gettin'much?" 

"We  ain't  millionaires  yet." 

"No,  I  guess  not,"  whispered  Jim  Mace  to  Loudon.  "I'll 
gamble  that  gravel  don't  assay  a  nickel  a  ton.  Been  all 
through  them  hills,  I  have.  I  know  Hatchet  like  I  do  the 
Dogsoldier.  There's  no  gold  there." 

"This  prospector  party  says  different,"  muttered  Loudon. 

"You'll  see,"  sniffed  Jim  Mace.  "Gold  on  the  Hatchet! 
He's  loco!  You'll  see." 

"It's  a  good  thing,  stranger,"  Dawson  was  saying,  "yuh 
hit  the  Bend  when  we  was  havin'  a  dance.  There  ain't 
more'n  fifty  or  sixty  men  a-livin'  reg'lar  in  the  place." 

"Well,"  said  the  dusty  man,  "I  did  think  o'  headin'  for 


THE  DANCE  141 

Fort  Yardley.  But  them  feather-dusters  was  in  between, 
so  it  was  the  Bend  or  nothin'.  Oh,  I  knowed  I  was  takin* 
chances,  what  with  no  ranches  in  between,  an*  the  little  hoss 
liable  to  go  lame  on  me  an'  all.  It's  a  long  ride,  gents.  Say, 
seems  like  we're  a-crawlin'an'  a-crawlin'  an'gittin'  nowheres." 

"We're  a-gittin'  some'ers  right  lively,"  corrected  Double- 
day.  "If  yore  pardners  have  plenty  o'  cartridges  they'll  be 
a-holdin'  out  all  right  when  we  git  there.  Don't  yuh  fret 
none,  stranger/' 

"I  ain't — only — only — well,  gents,  there  was  a  roarin* 
passel  o'  them  Injuns." 

"Shore,  shore,  but  we'll  strike  the  Hatchet  near  Tepee 
Mountain  'round  sun-up,  an'  from  Tepee  to  Johnson's 
Peak  ain't  more'n  twenty  miles — less,  if  anythin'." 

In  the  keen  light  of  dawn  the  pyramidal  bulk  of  Tepee 
Mountain  loomed  not  six  miles  ahead.  When  the  sun  rose 
the  posse  had  skirted  its  base  and  was  riding  along  the  bank 
of  Hatchet  Creek. 

And  now  the  dusty  man  began  to  display  signs  of  a  great 
nervousness.  He  fidgeted  in  his  saddle,  examined  and  tried 
the  lever  action  of  his  rifle,  and  gloomily  repeated  many  times 
that  he  believed  the  posse  would  arrive  too  late.  As  they 
passed  above  a  cut  bank,  the  dusty  man,  riding  near  the  edge, 
dropped  his  Winchester.  The  piece  slipped  over  the  edge 
and  splashed  into  the  water  fifteen  feet  below.  Swearing,  the 
dusty  man  rode  back  to  where  the  bank  was  lower  and  dis 
mounted. 

"Don't  wait  for  me!"  he  shouted,  wading  upstream. 
"I'll  catch  up." 

The  posse  rode  onward.  Some  of  the  horses  were  stagger 
ing  with  fatigue.  All  of  them  were  jaded  and  dripping  with 
sweat.  Suddenly  Telescope  Laguerre  rode  from  the  line 
and  vaulted  out  of  his  saddle.  He  landed  on  his  hands  and 
knees  and  remained  in  that  position,  his  head  thrust  forward, 
his  eyes  blazing  with  excitement. 

"What's  eatin'  Telescope?"  demanded  Doubleday. 

"Tom!  Tom!  Come  here!  Queeck!"  shouted  the  half- 
breed. 


142  PARADISE  BEND 

"Say!"  snorted  Doubleday.  "What  is  this,  anyway? 
Do  you  fellers  know  there's  some  Injuns  up  here  a  piece?" 

But  Loudon  had  joined  Telescope  and  neither  of  the  two 
gave  the  slightest  heed  to  the  outraged  Doubleday. 

"Look!"  exclaimed  Laguerre,  as  the  tail  of  the  column 
passed.  "Look!  Yore  hoss  she  come  out  o'  de  wood  here! 
See!" 

"My  hoss!  You  mean  Ranger?"  Loudon  stared,  thun 
derstruck,  at  the  hoofmarks  of  two  horses. 

"Yore  hoss,  Ranger!  Ah,  once  I  see  de  hoss-track  I  know 
heem  again!  Las'  tarn  you  shoe  de  hoss  you  shoe  heem  all 
'roun'.  Dees  ees  hees  track.  No  man  was  ride  heem.  She 
was  de  led  hoss.  Feller  ride  odder  hoss.  See!  Dey  come 
out  de  wood  un  go  dees  way." 

Telescope  waved  a  hand  over  the  way  they  had  come. 

"How  old  are  the  tracks?"  queried  Loudon,  breathlessly. 

"Mabbeso  four  day.  No  use  follow  dem.  We  lose  'em 
on  de  hard  groun'." 

"Telescope,  I  got  an  idea  somethin's  wrong.  I  dunno 
what,  but  these  tracks  comin'  in  here  thisaway,  an*  that 
fellah  with  the  Injun  story — I  guess  now  they  hitch  somehow. 
I  tell  yuh  I  dunno  how" — as  Telescope  opened  his  mouth  to 
speak — "an5  I  may  be  wrong,  but  I'm  goin'  back  after  that 
party  from  Hatchet  Creek." 

Loudon  swung  into  his  saddle  and  spurred  his  mount. 
The  animal  responded  gamely,  but  a  pitifully  slow  lope  was 
the  best  speed  it  could  shake  out  of  its  weary  legs.  Laguerre's 
pony  was  in  worse  case.  The  short  halt  had  stiffened  his 
knees  slightly  and  he  stumbled  at  every  other  step.  The 
two  men  lolloped  jerkily  downstream.  Rounding  a  sharp 
bend,  they  came  in  sight  of  the  cut  bank  where  the  dusty 
stranger  had  dropped  his  gun.  Neither  man  nor  horse  was 
visible. 

"  By  gar ! "  exclaimed  Laguerre.     "  By  gar ! " 

Just  then  his  horse  stumbled  for  the  last  time,  fell  on  its 
knees,  and  rolled  over  on  its  side.  Laguerre  flung  himself 
clear  and  bounced  to  his  feet.  The  pony  struggled  up,  but 
Laguerre  did  not  remount.  He  dragged  his  rifle  from  the 


THE  DANCE  143 

scabbard  and  ran  forward  on  foot  to  rejoin  his  comrade. 
Loudon  was  leaning  over  the  saddlehorn  examining  the  spot 
where  the  dusty  m,  n  had  left  his  horse. 

"Ground's  kind  o'  hard,"  said  Loudon,  "but  it  looks  like 
he'd  headed  for  that  flat." 

"He  go  dere  all  right!"  exclaimed  Laguerre,  excitedly. 
"Come  on,  Tom!" 

Running  awkwardly,  for  cow-country  boots  are  not  fash 
ioned  for  rapid  locomotion,  Laguerre  led  the  way  toward  a 
broad  meadow  fifty  yards  away.  Once  in  the  meadow  the 
trail  was  easier  to  follow.  The  meadow  was  at  least  a  quarter- 
mile  wide,  and  woods  bordered  it  on  three  sides. 

The  trail  led  straight  across  it,  and  on  into  the  forest. 
The  trees  did  not  grow  thickly,  and  Laguerre,  his  eyes  on  the 
ground,  threaded  his  way  in  and  out  between  the  trunks  at 
an  ankle-straining  trot.  He  had  excellent  wind,  had  Tele 
scope  Laguerre.  Loudon  was  forced  to  employ  spurs  and 
quirt  in  order  to  keep  up  with  him. 

Four  hundred  yards  deep  in  the  forest  they  saw  ahead  an 
opening  in  the  trees.  A  minute  later  they  charged  into  a 
large  meadow.  In  the  middle  of  the  meadow  was  an  ancient 
shack,  doorless,  the  roof  fallen  in,  flanked  by  a  corral  which 
gave  evidence  of  having  been  recently  repaired. 

"Somethin'  movin'  in  that  corral,"  said  Loudon,  and 
dragged  out  his  gun. 

Then,  in  half  a  watch-tick,  a  man  on  a  chestnut  horse 
flashed  across  the  open  space  between  the  corral  and  the 
shack.  Loudon  and  Laguerre  swung  to  one  side,  but  the 
man  did  not  immediately  reappear  on  the  other  side  of  the 
shack.  A  few  steps  farther  and  they  saw  him.  He  was  rid 
ing  directly  away  from  them  and  was  within  fifty  yards  of 
the  forest. 

The  fugitive  was  a  long  two  hundred  yards  distant,  but 
they  recognized  his  back  without  any  difficulty.  He  was  the 
dusty  man  from  Hatchet  Creek,  and  his  horse  was  Loudon's 
Ranger. 

"Look  out  for  the  hoss!*  cried  Loudon,  as  Laguerre  flung 
up  his  rifle. 


144  PARADISE  BEND 

The  rifle  cracked  spitefully  once  and  again.  The  rider, 
with  a  derisive  yell,  disappeared  among  the  trees.  Laguerre 
dropped  his  rifle-butt,  and  began  to  utter  strange  and  awful 
oaths  in  a  polyglot  of  French  and  English.  Loudon  sheathed 
his  six-shooter,  kicked  his  feet  out  of  the  stirrups,  and  calmly 
rolled  a  cigarette. 

"No  use  a-cussin',  Telescope,"  he  observed.  "He's  done 
gone." 

Pht-bang!  a  rifle  spat  from  the  distant  wood.  London's 
horse  gave  a  convulsive  sidewise  leap,  dropped  with  a  groan 
and  rolled  half  over,  pinning  Loudon  to  the  ground.  La 
guerre,  flat  on  his  stomach,  was  firing  at  the  thinning  smoke- 
cloud  under  the  trees.  But  there  were  no  more  shots  from 
the  forest. 

"Say,  Telescope,"  called  Loudon,  "when  yuh  get  plumb 
through  would  yuh  mind  pullin'  this  cayuse  off  o'  my 
legs?" 

Still  cursing,  Laguerre  levered  up  the  body  of  the  dead 
pony  with  the  barrel  of  his  rifle,  and  Loudon  wriggled  free. 
He  endeavoured  to  stand  on  his  feet,  but  sat  down  abruptly. 

"What's  de  matter?"  inquired  Laguerre.  "Bullet  hit  you, 
too?" 

"No,"  replied  Loudon,  gingerly  feeling  his  right  ankle, 
"my  foot  feels  funny." 

"Mabbeso  de  leg  broke,"  suggested  Laguerre.  "Mabbeso 
dat  feller  she  try  anudder  shot.  Better  you  be  behin'  de 
log-house." 

He  picked  up  his  rifle,  helped  Loudon  to  stand  erect,  and 
passed  an  arm  around  his  waist.  So,  hopping  on  one  foot, 
Loudon  reached  the  shelter  of  the  shack  wall.  Laguerre 
eased  him  to  the  ground  and  skipped  nimbly  down  past  the 
corral. 

"Mabbeso  I  geet  dat  feller,"  he  called  over  his  shoulder. 
"Be  back  soon." 

Laguerre  returned  in  five  minutes. 

"Dat  feller  she  geet  clean  away,"  he  said,  disconsolately. 
"Nevair  touch  heem.  By  gar!  Eef  I  not  have  run  so  hard, 
I  shoot  better.  Geet  heem  shore  den." 


THE  DANCE  145 

"Pull  my  boot  off,  will  yuh,  Telescope?"  requested  Loudon, 
extending  his  leg. 

Laguerre  pulled.  Loudon  gritted  his  teeth.  The  pain  was 
sharp,  nauseating. 

"It's  no  good,"  said  Loudon,  thickly.  "Got  to  cut  the 
boot  off." 

Laguerre  whipped  out  his  knife  and  slit  the  leather  from 
instep  to  top.  Gently  he  removed  the  boot.  Loudon  peeled 
off  the  sock.  The  ankle  was  badly  swollen. 

"Wiggle  de  toe,"  commanded  Laguerre. 

Loudon  wriggled  his  toes  and  was  able  to  move  his  ankle 
slightly,  not  without  a  deal  of  pain,  however.  He  noted  with 
thankfulness  that  the  pain  was  continuous,  and  not  stabbing 
as  it  is  when  a  bone  is  involved. 

"Bone's  all  right,"  he  observed,  cheerfully.  "Only  a 
sprain,  I  guess." 

"Dat  ees  good,"  said  Laguerre.     "I  geet  de  odder  boss." 

He  strode  to  the  dead  horse  and  stripped  off  saddle  and 
bridle. 

"Say,"  said  Loudon,  "I  can  do  that  while  yo're  goin'  for  the 
hoss.  We'll  have  to  leave  'em  here,  anyway." 

"No,  not  dees  treep,  my  frien',"  Laguerre  said,  carrying 
saddle  and  bridle  toward  the  corral.  "Dat  feller  she  leave 
Dan  Smeet's  hoss  on  de  odder  side  de  corral.  Hoss  she 
pretty  tire',  but  she  carry  you  all  right." 

On  his  hands  and  knees  Loudon  crawled  to  the  corral 
and  peered  between  the  bars.  The  corral  was  a  large 
one.  Till  recently  the  grass  had  grown  thickly  within  it. 
But  that  grass  had  been  nibbled  to  the  roots,  and  the 
marks  of  shod  hoofs  were  everywhere.  From  a*  spring  near 
the  shack  a  small  stream  ran  through  one  corner  of  the 
corral. 

"Slick,"  said  Loudon.  "Couldn't  have  been  better,  could 
it?" 

"No  eet  could  not,"  agreed  Laguerre.  "She  feex  up  dees 
ole  corral  fine.  Dat  Ranger  hoss  she  been  here  mabbeso  four 
day.  She  have  de  grass.  She  have  de  watair.  She  all 
ready  fresh  w'en  dat  feller  she  come.  Un  how  can  we  follow 


146  PARADISE  BEND 

wit'  de  tire'  pony?  Oh,  she  have  eet  figure  all  out.  For 
w'y?  Can  you  tell  me  dat,  Tom?" 

"I  dunno.     It  shore  is  too  many  for  me." 

He  painfully  made  his  way  to  the  spring,  drank,  and  then 
soaked  his  sprained  ankle  in  the  icy  stream  till  Laguerre 
came  to  help  him  into  the  saddle. 

On  the  bank  of  the  Hatchet  they  found  Laguerre 's  pony 
lying  where  it  had  fallen.  The  animal  was  not  dead.  It  was 
sound  asleep. 

"Hear  dat?"  said  Laguerre,  late  in  the  afternoon. 

Loudon  listened.  From  afar  off  came  a  buzzing  murmur. 
It  grew  louder  and  louder. 

"The  boys  are  some  het  up,"  observed  Loudon. 

The  posse  straggled  into  view.  The  boys  were  "het  up." 
They  were  all  talking  at  once.  Evidently  they  had  been  talk 
ing  for  some  time,  and  they  were  full  of  their  subject.  At 
sight  of  Loudon  and  his  bootless  leg  the  clamour  stilled. 

"Hit  bad,  Tom?"  called  Doubleday. 

"Hoss  fell  on  me,"  explained  Loudon.  "Yuh  don't  have 
to  say  nothin',  Doubleday,"  he  added,  as  the  foreman  dis 
mounted  beside  him.  "I  know  just  what  happened." 

"Oh,  yuh  do,  do  yuh?"  snorted  Doubleday,  wrathfully. 
"I  might  'a'  knowed  there  was  somethin'  up  when  that  gent 
an'  you  fellers  didn't  catch  up.  An'  us  ridin'  our  heads  off 
from  hell  to  breakfast!  Why,  we'd  be  combin'  this  country 
yet  only  we  met  some  o'  the  cavalry  from  Fort  Yardley  an' 
they  said  there  ain't  been  an  Injun  off  the  reservation  for  a 
month.  They  shore  give  us  the  laugh.  — — !  That's  his 
hoss!  Did  yuh  get  him?" 

"We  did  not.  The  fellah  got  away  nice  as  yuh  please  on 
my  hoss  Ranger — yep,  the  hoss  Rufe  Cutting  stole  in  the 
Bend.  Gimme  the  makin's,  somebody,  an'  I'll  tell  yuh  what 
happened." 


CHAPTER    XIV 

A      DETERMINED      WOMAN 

ALONG,  ragged  line  of  dirty,  tired  men,  and  sweat- 
caked,  drooping-headed  horses,  the  posse  rode  into 
Paradise  Bend  in  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day. 
The  men  were  quiet.  Silently  they  dispersed  to  the  various 
corrals.  Loudon,  his  right  leg  dangling  free,  had  suffered 
increasingly  during  the  long  ride.  By  the  time  the  Bend 
was  reached  the  pain  in  his  ankle  was  torturing.  At  the 
hotel  corral  Laguerre  and  Doubleday  helped  him  to  dis 
mount. 

"Yuh  got  to  go  to  bed  awhile,  Tom,"  pronounced  Double- 
day.  "Grab  my  shoulder." 

"Where  was  you  thinkin'  o'  takin'  him?"  demanded  the 
exceedingly  cross  voice  of  Mrs.  Burr. 

"The  hotel,  ma'am,"  replied  Doubleday,  taking  off  his  hat. 

Mrs.  Burr  marched  forward  and  halted  in  front  of  the  trio. 
She  stuck  her  arms  akimbo  and  glared  at  Doubleday. 

"The  hotel!"  she  snapped.  "The  hotel!  An'  my  house 
close  by!  What's  the  matter  with  you,  John  Doubleday? 
My  land,  it's  a  good  thing  I  seen  you  three  a-comin'  in  here. 
I  just  knowed  yuh  was  aimin'  to  put  him  in  the  hotel.  Yuh'll 
do  nothin' o' the  kind.  Yuh  hear  me!  I  ain't  goin' to  have 
no  friend  o'  mine  with  a  game  leg  a-roostin'  in  this  hotel. 
The  beds  are  bad,  an'  the  grub's  worse.  What's  the  matter, 
Tom?  Shot?" 

"It's  only  a  sprain,  ma'am,"  said  Loudon.  "An*  I  guess 
if  yuh  don't  mind,  I'll  go  to  the  hotel.  I  couldn't  think  o' 
troublin'  yuh,  ma'am.  Thank  yuh  a  lot,  but  I  couldn't, 
honest." 

"Oh,  yuh  couldn't,  couldn't  yuh?  My  land,  ain't  yuh 
uppity  all  of  a  sudden?  Yuh  don't  know  what  yo're  talkin* 

147 


148  PARADISE  BEND 

about.  Men  never  do  nohow  an*  a  sick  man  don't,  special. 
Yo're  a-comin'  to  my  house,  an*  I'm  a-goin'  to  put  yuh  to 
bed  an'  cure  that  sprained  ankle.  Yuh  can  just  bet  I  am. 
John  Doubleday,  you  h'ist  him  aboard  that  pony  right  away 
quick  an'  fetch  him  round  instanter.  If  he  ain't  outside  my 
door  in  five  minutes  I'll  come  back  an'  know  the  reason  why. 
Hurry  now.  I'm  goin'  ahead  an'  get  some  hot  water  ready." 

Twenty  minutes  later  Loudon  was  sitting  in  the  Burr  kit 
chen.  He  was  smoking  a  cigarette  and  soaking  his  sprained 
ankle  in  a  bucket  of  hot  water.  At  the  kitchen  table  stood 
Mrs.  Burr  shaking  up  a  bottle  of  horse  liniment. 

"What's  this  John  Doubleday  tells  me  about  yore  ride 
no'th  bein'  a  joke?"  asked  Mrs.  Burr. 

"I  dunno  no  more'n  Doubleday,"  replied  Loudon.  "It's 
all  beyond  me." 

"It's  shore  a  heap  funny.  No  feather-dusters,  no  miner 
folks  a-standin'  'em  off,  an'  that  gent  who  brought  the  news 
runnin'  off  thataway  an'  shootin'  at  yuh  an'  all.  It  must 
mean  somethin',  though.  A  feller  wouldn't  do  all  that  just 
for  a  real  joke.  It's  too  much." 

"I  wish  I  knew  what  it  meant,  ma'am." 

"Well,  it's  a  queer  world,  full  o'  queer  folks  an*  queerer 
doin's,"  observed  the  lady,  holding  the  bottle  against  the 
light.  "Anyhow,  this  here  liniment  will  fix  yuh  up  fine  as 
frog's  hair.  Now  yuh  must  just  lift  yore  foot  out  an'  I'll  dry 
it.  Shut  up!  Who's  running  this,  I'd  like  to  know?  Land 
sakes,  why  shouldn't  I  dry  yore  ankle?  Shut  up,  I  tell  yuh. 

"My  fathers,  Tom,  you  men  make  me  plumb  tired! 
Idjits,  the  lot  o'  yuh.  No  more  sense  than  so  many  fool  hens. 
What  yuh  all  need  is  wives  to  think  for  yuh,  tell  yuh  what  to 
do,  an'  all  that.  There  now,  it's  dry.  Where's  that  cloth? 
Hold  the  foot  still  while  I  wrap  it  'round.  Now  this  lini 
ment's  a-goin'  to  burn.  But  the  burnin's  healin'.  The 
harder  it  burns  the  quicker  yuh'll  get  well.  Shore ! 

"As  I  was  sayin',  Tom,  yuh'd  ought  to  get  married.  Do 
yuh  good.  Make  yuh  steadier — give  yuh  a  new  interest  in 
life,  an'  all  that.  Ever  think  of  it,  Tom?" 

Mrs.  Burr  rose  to  her  feet  and  beamed  down  upon  Loudon. 


A  DETERMINED  WOMAN  149 

That  young  man  was  beginning  to  feel  strangely  weak. 
First  Scotty,  and  now  Mrs.  Burr!  What  was  the  matter 
with  everybody?  Scotty,  of  course,  was  an  eccentric.  But 
for  Mrs.  Burr  brazenly  to  hurl  her  daughter  at  his  head  was 
incomprehensible.  Loudon,  red  to  the  ears,  mustered  a 
weak  smile. 

"I  dunno,  ma'am,'*  he  gulped,  uncomfortably.  "I — I 
hadn't  thought  of  it,  I  guess." 

"Well,  yuh'd  ought  to  think  of  it.  An'  if  yuh  know  what's 
best  for  yuh,  yuh  will  think  of  it — hard.  I  tell  yuh  flat, 
Tom,  a  single  man  ain't  no-account.  He  don't  gather  no 
moss,  but  he  does  collect  bad  habits.  Now  a  wife  she  stops 
all  this  rattlin'  round  a-diggin'  up  what  St.  Peter  will  ask 
yuh  questions  about.  Yessir,  a  good  wife  keeps  yuh  up  to 
the  bit  an'  a-headin'  the  right  way." 

Nervously  Loudon  began  to  roll  another  cigarette.  He 
hoped  that  Mrs.  Burr  had  finished.  His  hope  was  vain. 

"Well,  now,  Tom,  ain't  I  right?"  she  demanded. 

"Shore,  ma'am,  shore,  plumb  right,"  Loudon  hastened  to 
assure  her. 

"  'Course  I  am.  I  knowed  yuh'd  see  it  that  way.  Why 
don't  yuh  do  it?" 

"Doit?" 

"Yuh  know  perfectly  well  what  I  mean.  Ask  a  girl  to 
marry  yuh." 

"Any  girl?" 

"Not  just  any  girl.  If  yuh  was  to  ask  me  I  could  tell  yuh 
who  right  quick.  But  I  suppose  that  wouldn't  do." 

Loudon  was  devoutly  thankful  that  the  lady  possessed 
some  sense  of  propriety. 

"We-e-ell,  ma'am,"  he  said,  slowly,  "no  girl  would  have 
me." 

"Did  yuh  ever  ask  one?"  This  with  a  shrewd  cock  of  the 
eyebrow. 

"I  did  once." 

"An'  she  give  yuh  the  mitten,  huh?  More  fool  she.  Lis 
ten  to  me:  when  a  hoss  bucks  yuh  off,  what  do  yuh  do? 
Give  up,  or  climb  aboard  again?" 


150  PARADISE  BEND 

"That's  different." 

"'Tain't  a  bit  different.  Girl  or  boss,  a  man  shouldn't 
ever  give  up.  Y'asked  a  girl  once,  didn't  yuh?  Yuh  said 
yuh  did.  Well,  ask  her  again.  Land  sakes  alive,  give  her  a 
chance  to  change  her  mind!" 

Good  heavens!  Did  Mrs.  Burr  mean  Kate  Saltoun? 
Impossible.  But  was  it  impossible?  Of  late,  the  seemingly 
impossible  had  had  an  uncanny  habit  of  coming  to  pass. 
Loudon  shivered.  He  was  quite  positive  that  he  did  not 
love  Kate.  The  longer  he  considered  the  matter  the  more 
fully  convinced  he  became  that  he  did  not  wish  to  marry 
any  one.  Which  was  natural.  Bid  a  man  fall  in  love  with 
a  girl  and  he  will  at  once  begin  to  find  fault  with  her. 

"She — she  wouldn't  have  me,"  dissembled  Loudon.  "It's 
no  use  talkin',  ma'am,  I'm  what  the  fellah  in  the  book  calls  a 
shore-enough  blighted  being.  It  makes  me  feel  terrible, 
ma'am,  but  yuh  can't  do  nothin'.  Nobody  can.  I  just  got 
to  bear  it,  I  guess." 

He  sighed  enormously,  but  there  was  a  twinkle  in  the  gray 
eyes. 

"Yo're  laughin'!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Burr,  severely.  "I'd 
like  to  shake  yuh,  I  would.  It  ain't  for  nothin'  that  man  an' 
mule  begin  with  the  same  letter.  Stubborn!  My  land  o' 
livin',  a  girl's  feelin's  ain't  nothin'  to  yuh !  What  do  you  care, 
yuh  great  big  good-for-nothin'  lummox!" 

"Now,  ma'am,"  chided  Loudon,  grinning,  "yo're  gettin* 
real  excited." 

"Who  wouldn't?     Here  I  am " 

"Say,"  interrupted  Loudon,  "when  it  comes  to  that,  here 
I  am  gettin'  fifty-five  dollars  a  month.  However  can  I  get 
married,  even  if  anybody'd  have  me,  with  silk  dresses  at  five 
dollars  a  yard?" 

"Silk  dresses!     What  d'yuh  mean  by  that?" 

"Why,  ma'am,  I  wouldn't  let  my  wife  wear  nothin'  but 
silk  dresses  mornin',  noon,  an'  night.  Nothin'  would  be  too 
good  for  my  wife.  So  yuh  see  how  it  is.  I  dassent  think  o' 
marriage." 

Words  failed  Mrs.  Burr.     It  was  probably  the  first  time 


A  DETERMINED  WOMAN  151 

that  they  had  failed  her.  She  gasped,  gasped  again,  then 
stamped  to  the  stove  and  furiously  rattled  the  frying-pan. 

"Well,"  she  suddenly  remarked,  "wherever  can  that  girl 
o'  mine  be?  Gallivantin'  'round  with  that  O'Leary  feller 
just  when  I  want  her  to  go  to  the  store.  Now  look  here, 
Tom,  you  set  right  still  till  I  come  back,  do  yuh  hear?  No 
projeckin'  'round  on  that  ankle.  I'll  get  Ben  to  put  yuh  to 
bed  after  supper." 

"He  needn't  bother,"  said  Loudon,  hastily.  "I  can  get 
into  bed  my  own  self.  I  ain't  a  invalid." 

"Yo're  just  what  I  say  yuh  are.  If  yuh  make  any  fuss 
I'll  put  yuh  to  bed  myself.  So  you  watch  out." 

The  masterful  lady  departed.  Loudon,  undisturbed  by 
her  threat,  gazed  after  her  with  admiration. 

"She's  a  whizzer,"  he  said  under  his  breath.  "Got  a 
heart  like  all  outdoors.  But  that  ankle  ain't  as  bad  as 
she  makes  out.  Bet  I  can  hop  to  the  door  an'  back  just  as 
easy." 

So,  because  he  had  been  forbidden  to  budge,  Loudon  hoisted 
himself  out  of  the  chair,  balanced  on  one  leg,  and  hopped 
across  the  room.  Holding  himself  upright  by  the  door- 
jambs  he  peered  out  cautiously.  He  wished  to  assure  him 
self  that  Mrs.  Burr  was  well  on  her  way  to  the  store  before 
proceeding  farther  on  his  travels  around  the  kitchen. 

Mrs.  Burr  was  not  in  sight.  Surely  she  could  not  have 
reached  the  corner  so  soon.  Vaguely  disturbed,  Loudon 
kept  one  eye  cocked  down  the  street.  His  vigilance  was  re 
warded  by  the  emergence  from  the  Mace  doorway  of  both 
Mrs.  Burr  and  Kate  Saltoun.  Mrs.  Burr  went  on  toward 
Main  Street.  Kate  turned  in  his  direction. 

"Good  Lord!"  gurgled  Loudon,  despairingly.  "She's 
a-comin'  here!" 

In  a  panic  he  turned,  slipped,  overbalanced,  and  his  whole 
weight  ground  down  hard  on  his  sprained  ankle.  The  most 
excruciating  pain  shot  through  his  whole  being.  Then  he 
toppled  down  in  a  dead  faint. 

When  he  recovered  consciousness  Kate's  arm  was  around 
his  shoulders,  and  ^Kate's  voice  was  saying,  "Drink  this." 


152  PARADISE  BEND 

Through  a  mist  he  saw  Kate's  face  and  her  dark  eyes  with  a 
pucker  of  worry  between  them. 

"Drink  this,"  repeated  Kate,  and  Loudon  drank  from  the 
glass  she  held  to  his  lips. 

The  whisky  cleared  away  the  mist  and  injected  new  life 
into  his  veins.  Ashamed  of  his  weakness,  he  muttered  hasty 
thanks,  and  essayed  to  rise. 

"Don't  move!"  Kate  commanded,  sharply.  "Hold  still 
till  I  pull  that  chair  over  here." 

"I  can  get  up  all  right,  Kate.     I  ain't  hurt." 

"No,  of  course  not.  You've  just  shown  how  much  you 
aren't  hurt.  Do  as  I  say." 

Kate  pulled  the  chair  toward  her  and  was  helping  Loudon 
into  it  when  Mrs.  Burr  entered.  That  she  had  gone  to  the 
store  was  doubtful.  At  least,  she  was  empty-handed. 

"My  land!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Burr,  running  to  Kate's  assist 
ance.  "What's  the  matter?  Tom,  did  yuh  get  up  after 
I  told  yuh  not  to?" 

Loudon  mumbled  unintelligibly. 

"I  found  him  in  a  dead  faint  on  the  floor,"  was  the  illumin 
ing  remark  of  Kate. 

"Oh,  yuh  did,  did  yuh?  I  might  'a'  knowed  it!  Can't  do 
nothin*  yo're  told,  can  yuh,  Tom?  I'll  bet  yuh  twisted  that 
ankle  again !  My  fathers,  yuh  make  me  tired !  Bet  yuh  it's 
all  swelled  up  now  worse 'n  ever.  Lemme  look." 

Expertly  Mrs.  Burr  stripped  the  wrappings  from  Loudon's 
ankle. 

"Thought  so!"  she  grunted,  and  took  the  dishpan  from  its 
hook. 

"Is  it  very  bad?"  queried  Kate. 

"Not  near  so  bad  as  he's  tryin'  to  make  it  with  his  hoppin' 
'round.  Land  alive!  He'll  be  lucky  if  it  ain't  lame  the  rest 
of  his  life.  Now,  Tom,  I'm  goin'  to  use  hotter  water 'n  I  did 
before.  Yuh  deserve  to  have  that  foot  good  an'  scalded,  yuh 
do.  I'll  get  the  swellin'  down,  too,  if  I  have  to  parboil  yuh. 
Don't  yuh  make  no  mistake  about  that.  Say,  I  don't  see 

how  steppin'  on  this  here  could  'a'  made  yuh  faint,  unless 

Say,  Tom,  when  did  yuh  eat  last?" 


A  DETERMINED  WOMAN  153 

"  Why,  ma'am,  I  don't — well,  I  guess  it  was  yesterday  some 
time." 

Kate  uttered  a  soft  exclamation. 

"Yesterday  some  time!"  cried  Mrs.  Burr,  hurrying  to  the 
stove.  "Yesterday  mornin'  too,  I'll  bet.  I  might  V 
knowed  it.  You  fellers  didn't  take  much  grub  with  yuh  when 
yuh  went  north.  An'  I  never  thought  to  ask  when  yuh  et  last. 
A  sprained  ankle,  a  fifty-mile  ride,  an'  nothin'  to  eat  on  top 
of  it.  No  wonder  yuh  fainted.  Yuh  poor  feller.  An'  here 
I  been  a-callin'  yuh  all  kinds  o'  names.  We  won't  wait  for 
Dorothy.  I'll  have  somethin'  to  eat  for  yuh  in  a  minute." 

"No  hurry,  ma'am,"  remarked  Loudon.  "I  ain't  a  bit 
hungry." 

"  Kate,"  said  Mrs.  Burr,  paying  him  no  attention, "  cut  some 
bread,  will  yuh,  an'  start  feedin'  him.  The  butter's  yonder." 

Fifteen  minutes  later  Loudon  was  sitting  at  the  table  de 
vouring  steak  and  potatoes.  He  was  hungry.  With  great 
satisfaction  Mrs.  Burr  watched  him  tuck  away  the  food. 

"There,"  she  announced,  filling  his  coffee  cup  for  the  second 
tune,  "I  guess  that'll  hold  yuh  for  awhile.  I'll  just  set  the 
coffeepot  back  on  the  stove  an'  Kate  can  give  yuh  some  more 
when  yuh  want  it.  I'm  goin'  down  street  a  minute." 

When  Mrs.  Burr  had  gone  Kate  sat  down  opposite  Loudon 
and  locked  her  fingers  under  her  chin.  Loudon  steadfastly 
kept  his  eyes  glued  to  his  plate.  Confound  the  girl!  Why 
must  she  pursue  him  in  this  brazen  fashion?  Couldn't  she 
realize — but  apparently  she  realized  nothing  save  the  impor 
tance  of  her  own  desires.  Man-like,  Loudon  hardened  his 
heart.  Curiously  enough,  the  strictly  impersonal  tone  of 
Kate's  opening  remark  gave  him  a  distinct  feeling  of  annoy 
ance. 

"Isn't  Mrs.  Burr  great?"  said  Kate. 

"Shore,"  mumbled  Loudon. 

"And  Dorothy,  too.  I  like  her  an  awful  lot.  She  came 
over  to  Lil's  this  morning,  and  we  sewed  and  gossiped, 
and  had  a  perfectly  lovely  time.  She — Dorothy,  I  mean — 
showed  me  a  new  stitch — but,  of  course,  you  aren't  interested 
in  embroidery.  Tell  me,  how  do  you  like  the  new  job?" 


154  PARADISE,  BEND 

"All  right." 

"I'm  glad.    Is  Mr.  Mackenzie  a  good  boss?" 

"  Fine.  Couldn't  beat  him — that  is — er — yore  dad  always 
treated  me  white." 

"  I  know,"  nodded  Kate,  her  black  eyes  twinkling.  "  Don't 
apologize.  I  quarrel  with  Dad  myself  sometimes.  Tom," 
she  added,  her  expression  sobering,  "have  you  had  any  news 
from  Farewell  lately?" 

"Ain't  heard  a  word  since  I  left.     Why?" 

"I  received  a  letter  from  Dad  to-day.  He  says  there's  a 
warrant  for  rustling  out  for  you." 

"That's  good  hearin',"  said  Loudon,  cheerfully.  "I'm  one 
popular  jigger  in  the  Lazy  River  country.  They  just  can't 
get  along  without  me,  can  they?" 

"Apparently  not.  Dad  told  me  to  tell  you.  Listen,  it 
isn't  generally  known  in  Farewell  or  anywhere  else  in  Fort 
Creek  County,  for  that  matter,  that  a  warrant  is  out  for  you. 
It  was  issued  by  Judge  Allison  in  Marysville.  Block's  keep 
ing  it  as  dark  as  possible." 

"Goin'  to  spring  it  on  me  when  I  ain't  lookin',  I  sup 
pose.  He  won't  try  fetchin'  any  warrant  up  here,  that's  a 
cinch." 

"Hardly.     I  always  hated  that  man." 

"I  never  liked  him  a  whole  lot,  neither.  Say,  how  did  yore 
dad  hear  about  that  warrant?" 

"He  didn't  say,  but  I  imagine  somebody  in  Marysville 
wrote  him.  He  has  friends  there,  you  know." 

"  I  didn't  know,  but  I'm  shore  glad  he  has.  Next  time  yuh 
write  yuh  might  thank  yore  dad  for  me." 

"I  will,  of  course.  I'm  awfully  glad  you're  safe  up  here, 
Tom.  All  the  straight  people  in  the  Lazy  River  country 
know  you  didn't  have  any  hand  in  the  branding  of  those 
Crossed  Dumbbell  cattle,  but  that  doesn't  help  much  when 
Block  and  his  friends  are  in  the  majority." 

"Yo're  right,  it  don't;  but  I  got  to  go  to  Farewell  anyway 
in  about  five  weeks." 

"What?"  Kate's  eyes  widened  with  something  very  like 
fear. 


A  DETERMINED  WOMAN  155 

"Shore,"  nodded  Loudon.  "I  got  a  little  business  to  at 
tend  to  that  can't  be  put  off." 

"Put  it  off,"  begged  Kate,  stretching  out  a  pleading  hand. 
"  Put  it  off,  Tom.  You  mustn't — you  can't  go  back  to  Fare 
well  now.  Some  day  everything  will  be  all  right  again,  and 
then  you  can  go  back.  But  not  now,  Tom.  Your  life  is 
much  more  important  than  any  silly  business.  Please  wait." 

"  Can't  be  did,"  said  Loudon  with  finality.  "  I  just  got  to 
go,  an*  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

"But,  Tom,"  cried  Kate,  "don't  you  understand?  They'll 
— they'll  h-hang  you." 

"They'll  have  to  catch  me  first.     Tain't  legal  otherwise." 

"Oh,  how  can  you  make  fun?  I  could  cry.  I  could,  in 
deed.  I  will,  too,  in  a  minute — only,  you  are  fooling,  aren't 
you?  You  don't  really  intend  to  go  back." 

"I  never  fool.  Dunno  how.  I'm  goin'  back,  an'  if 
Farewell  gets  gay,  why,  I'll  just  naturally  rope  that  village 
o'  tinhorns  an*  scatter  it  over  a  full  section  o'  land.  That'll 
cure  'em  o'  gettin'  out  warrants  for  peaceable  folks,  won't  it 
now?" 


CHAPTER    XV 

A      HIDDEN      TRAIL 

A  POUNDING  at  his  door  woke  Loudon  in  the  morn 
ing. 
"  'Lo,"  he  called,  sleepily. 

"Time  for  yore  dinner!"  shouted  Mrs.  Burr  through  the 
panels.  "It's  noon." 

"I'll  get  right  up." 

"Yuh  will  not.  Yuh'll  stay  right  where  yuh  are.  I'm 
comin'  in." 

She  entered,  bearing  a  basin  and  towels. 

"There,"  she  said,  setting  the  basin  on  the  chair  at  the 
bedside.  "There,  yuh  can  wash  yore  own  face.  Hungry?" 

"Some,"  he  sputtered  through  streaming  water. 

"That's  good.  I  got  a  nice  steak  an'  'taters  an*  gravy 
an'  hot  bread,  an'  there's  a  friend  wants  to  see  yuh." 

"Who?" 

"Swing  Tunstall.  He  just  rode  in  from  the  Flyin'  M. 
I'm  goin'  out  there  this  afternoon.  Dunno  how  long  I'll  be 
gone.  But  yuh'll  be  all  right.  I  done  asked  Lil  Mace  to 
come  over  here  an'  live  while  I'm  away.  Lil  an*  Kate  an* 
Dorothy '11  look  after  yuh.  An'  mind  yuh,  do  what  they 
tell  yuh,  or  I'll  make  it  hot  for  yuh  when  I  come  back." 

"What's  the  matter?     Anythin'  happened  at  the  ranch?" 

"Oh,  no  thin'  much — over  a  hundred  head  o'  hosses  run 
off,  an'  Scotty's  got  two  bullets  in  him." 

"What!" 

"Yep.  That's  why  I'm  goin'  out.  Got  to  look  after 
Scotty.  Swing  says  he  ain't  hurt  bad,  an'  Scotty  is  tough- 
er'n  back-leather,  but  still  there 'd  ought  to  be  a  woman 
there,  so  I'm  elected.  No,  I  can't  give  yuh  no  details.  Ain't 
got  time.  Swing  will  tell  yuh  all  he  knows.  Good-bye,  an' 

156 


A  HIDDEN  TRAIL  157 

don't  forget  what  I  said  'bout  mindin'  them  three  girls, 
Tom." 

She  picked  up  the  basin  and  hastened  from  the  room,  leav 
ing  the  door  open.  Through  the  doorway  Loudon  could  see 
a  section  of  the  kitchen  and  Kate  and  Dorothy  busy  at  the 
stove.  But  the  objects  in  view  did  not  register  any  impres 
sions  on  his  shocked  brain.  Scotty  shot!  A  hundred  horses 
stolen !  Here  was  a  grim  matter  indeed,  one  requiring  instant 
action,  and  he  was  laid  up  with  a  sprained  ankle!  Very  ar 
bitrary  ladies,  the  three  Fates.  Heartily,  but  under  his 
breath,  for  Dorothy  was  coming,  Loudon  cursed  his  luck. 

"Well,  invalid,"  smiled  Dorothy,  "here's  your  dinner. 
Shall  I  feed  you,  or  perhaps  you'd  prefer  Mrs.  Mace  or  Kate? 
How  about  it?" 

"I  only  sprained  my  ankle,"  said  Loudon,  red  to  the  ears. 

He  was  wearing  one  of  the  Captain's  nightgowns.  The 
middle-aged  scrutiny  of  the  mother  had  not  quickened  him 
to  the  fact  that  the  garment  was  much  too  small  for  him, 
but  under  the  eyes  of  the  daughter  he  became  burningly  self- 
conscious.  The  knowledge  that  Scotty  had  advised  Dorothy 
to  fall  in  love  with  him  did  not  lessen  the  agony  of  the  mo 
ment. 

"I'll  put  it  on  this  chair,"  said  tactful  Dorothy,  partly 
fathoming  the  cause  of  Loudon's  distress.  "Would  you  like 
to  see  Mr.  Tunstall?" 

"Shore  I  would.     I  didn't  know  he  was  here  at  the  house." 

"He's  camping  on  the  doorstep.  I'll  send  him  in.  Isn't 
it  awful  about  Scotty  Mackenzie?  And  all  those  horses,  too. 
Nothing  as  bad  as  this  ever  happened  in  Sunset  County  be 
fore." 

"It  won't  happen  again.  Not  right  away,  yuh  can  bet  on 
that." 

Dorothy  withdrew,  and  Swing  Tunstall  entered.  The 
bristle-haired  young  man  shut  the  door,  grinned  toothfully 
at  Loudon,  and  sat  down  cross-legged  on  the  floor. 

"Howdy,  Swing,"  said  Loudon,  "why  ain't  yuh  chasin' 
the  hoss  thieves?" 

"'Cause,"  replied  Tunstall,  "Doubleday  sent  me  in  to 


158  PAEADISE  BEND 

tell  the  sheriff  an*  get  a  doc  for  Scotty.  The  doc's  on  his 
way,  an*  the  sheriff's  due  in  to-day  from  Rocket.  All  the 
outfit,  'cept  Doubleday  an*  Giant  Morton,  are  cavortin* 
over  the  hills  an*  far  away  a-sniffin'  to  pick  up  the  trail." 

"When  did  it  happen?" 

"Well,  as  near  as  we  could  make  out,  after  siftin*  out 
Scotty's  cuss-words  an'  gettin'  down  to  hard-rock,  Scotty  was 
shot  'bout  eight  or  nine  o'clock  in  the  evenin'." 

"How?" 

"  Says  he  heard  a  racket  in  the  stallion  corral.  No  more'n 
he  slips  out  of  the  office  when  he's  plugged  twice — once  in  the 
left  leg,  an*  a  deep  graze  on  his  head.  The  head  shot  is 
what  knocked  him  out.  He  said  he  didn't  come  to  till  after 
midnight.  He  drug  himself  into  the  office  an'  tied  himself 
up  the  best  he  could  an'  lived  off  en  airtights  till  we  pulled  in. 
He  didn't  even  know  any  bosses  had  been  run  off  till  after 
we  got  back." 

"I  s'pose  he  was  shot  the  evenin'  of  the  dance?" 

"Shore.  Oh,  ain't  it  lovely?  Wliile  we're  chasin'  imagin 
ary  feather-dusters,  the  Fly  in'  M  bosses  are  vanishin'.  It 
shore  was  a  slick  trick.  The  gent  that  thought  up  that  plan 
for  getting'  every  two-legged  man  in  the  country  out  of  the 
way  is  a  wizard.  I'd  admire  to  see  him,  I  would.  I'll  bet 
he's  all  head." 

"He  ain't  exactly  a  fool,"  admitted  Loudon,  thinking  of 
Sam  Blakely. 

Certainly  the  manner  in  which  the  horse-stealing  had  been 
carried  out  bore  the  ear-marks  of  88  methods. 

"They  had  two  days'  start,"  observed  Swing  Tunstall. 
"Time  to  ride  to  Old  Mexico  almost." 

"Telescope's  a  good  tracker,"  said  Loudon,  and  began  to 
eat  his  dinner. 

"None  better.  But  even  Telescope  can't  do  wonders. 
By  the  trail  the  hoss-band  headed  east.  Them  bosses  was 
over  a  hundred,  maybe  a  hundred  an'  fifty,  miles  away  by 
the  time  our  outfit  got  started.  In  a  hundred  an'  fifty  miles 
o*  country  yuh'll  find  lots  o'  hard  ground  an'  maybe  a  rain 
storm." 


A  HIDDEN  TRAIL  159 

"Rain  ain't  none  likely  at  this  time  o'  year." 

"It  ain't  likely,  but  boss  thieves  with  a  two-day  start  are 
in  luck  at  the  go-off.  An'  luck  comes  in  bunches.  If  they's 
any  rain  wanderin'  'round  foot-free  an'  fancy-loose  these 
gents  will  get  it.  An*  then  where 's  Telescope  an'  his  track- 
in'?" 

When  Tunstall  had  departed  in  search  of  diversion  and 
to  buy  cartridges,  Loudon  locked  his  hands  behind  his  head 
and  stared  at  the  ceiling.  In  his  mind  he  turned  over  the 
events  of  the  past  few  days.  He  was  sure  that  Sam  Blakely 
and  the  88  outfit  were  the  prime  movers  in  the  shooting  of 
Scotty  and  the  stealing  of  Scotty's  horses. 

Yet,  save  that  the  exceeding  cleverness  of  procedure 
smacked  of  Blakely,  there  were  no  grounds  for  suspecting  the 
88  men.  Blakely  and  his  gang  were  not  the  only  cunning 
horse  thieves  in  the  territory.  There  were  dozens  of  others 
free  and  unhung.  Nevertheless,  Loudon's  instinct  fastened 
the  guilt  on  the  88. 

"I'm  shore,"  he  muttered,  "certain  shore.  But  there  ain't 
nothin'  to  go  by.  Not  a  thing.  An'  yuh  can't  prove  nothin' 
lyin'  on  yore  back  with  a  bumped  ankle." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  entrance  of  Kate  Saltoun  inter 
rupted  his  gloomy  reflections. 

"Feeling  worse,  Tom?"  she  inquired,  her  expression 
anxious. 

"Me?  Oh,  not  a  little  bit.  I  feel  just  like  a  flock  o'  birds 
with  yaller  wings." 

"You  needn't  be  snippy.  I  know  how  your  ankle  must 
pain  you,  but " 

"It  ain't  the  ankle,  Kate.  That  feels  fine,  only  I  know 
I  can't  stand  on  it.  It's  what  I'm  thinkin'  about.  I  was 
wonderin'  'bout  Scotty  an'  all." 

"If  I  sit  with  you,  would — would  you  like  to  talk?"  said 
she  with  a  hesitant  smile,  the  slow  red  mounting  to  her 
cheeks. 

"If  it  wouldn't  bother  yuh  too  much." 

'Til  be  right  back." 

Kate  took  away  the  dishes,  and  Loudon,  who  had  pulled 


160  PARADISE  BEND 

the  blankets  up  to  his  chin  at  her  entry,  snuggled  deeper  into 
the  bed  and  wished  himself  elsewhere. 

"What  else  could  I  say?"  he  asked  himself,  dismally, 
"Lord  A'mighty,  I  wish  she'd  keep  away  from  me." 

Kate  returned  quickly,  carried  the  chair  to  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  and  sat  down.  She  crossed  one  leg  over  the  other  and 
clasped  her  hands  in  her  lap.  Silence  ensued  for  a  brief 
space  of  time. 

"Well,"  said  Kate,  leadingly. 

"I  was  just  a-wonderin'  about  this  hoss  deal,"  began 
Loudon.  "I  think " 

"I  know  what  you  intended  saying,"  Kate  observed, 
calmly.  "You  see  in  it  the  fine  Italian  hand  of  Blakely." 

"You  always  could  talk  high,  wide,  and  handsome,"  said 
Loudon,  admiringly.  "How  djuh  guess  it?" 

"I  know  Sam  Blakely.  That's  enough.  He'd  hesitate 
at  nothing,  no  matter  how  vile  or  wicked  it  might  be.  Oh, 
don't  look  so  eager.  I  can't  prove  it.  It's  my  instinct,  that's 
all.  I  hate  him — hate  him — hate  him!" 

Kate  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"They'll  hear  yuh  in  the  kitchen,"  cautioned  Loudon  in  a 
whisper. 

Kate  lowered  her  hands  and  looked  at  him  wearily.  WTien 
she  spoke  her  voice  was  perfectly  composed. 

"No,  they  won't.  Dorothy's  over  at  Lil's.  Don't  worry, 
though.  I  sha'n't  lose  control  of  myself.  Something  came 
over  me  then.  I  won't  do  it  again." 

"Well,  you  think  like  I  do,  but  I  can't  prove  nothin', 
neither.  Never  have  been  able  to  prove  nothin'  against  the 
88.  Say,  does  yore  dad  still  believe  like  he  used  to  about 
them  cows?" 

"The  Crossed " 

"No,  his  cows.  Them  cows  that  disappeared  now  an' 
then." 

"I  believe  he  does.  He  never  talks  much,  you  know,  and 
it's  sometimes  hard  for  me  to  tell  what  he  thinks.  But  I 
don't  believe  he  suspects  the  88.  He  was  very  angry  when 
I  broke  the  engagement.  I  wouldn't  give  him  my  reason, 


A  HIDDEN  TRAIL  161 

and  he  stormed  and  stamped  around,  and  quarrelled  with  me 
all  the  time.  That's  partly  why  I  came  up  here  to  visit 
Lil  Mace." 

"If  we  could  only  wake  up  Fort  Creek  County — but  them 
fellahs,  most  of  'em,  are  for  the  88,  an'  them  that  ain't  have 
to  take  it  out  in  thinkin'  a  lot.  Now  if  we  could  cinch  this 
hoss-stealin'  on  the  88  it  would  help  a  lot  down  in  Fort  Creek 
County.  The  honest  folks  down  there  would  have  somethin' 
to  go  on,  an'  they'd  paint  for  war  immediate,  an'  with  the 
boys  from  up  here  it  would  be  a  cinch.  We'd  go  over  the 
88  outfit  like  a  landslide.  An'  here  I  am  throwed  an'  hog- 
tied.  Say "  London's  mouth  opened  wide.  His  eyes 

shone.  In  his  excitement  he  raised  himself  on  his  elbow — 
"I  got  it!  I  got  it!" 

"What?"  Kate  leaned  toward  him,  lips  parted. 

"It  ain't  possible  that  dance  was  just  luck,"  said  Loudon, 
rapidly.  "It  couldn't  just  'a'  happened  all  hunky-dory  so 
that  fellah  from  Hatchet  Creek  would  find  all  the  boys  in 
town.  Not  by  a  jugful  it  couldn't!  It  was  set  for  that 
night  a-purpose.  Now  who  started  the  ball  a-rollin'  for 
that  dance?" 

He  gazed  triumphantly  at  Kate.     Her  eyes  sparkled. 

"I'll  try  and  find  out  for  you,"  she  said. 

"Howdy,  folks?" 

It  was  Pete  O'Leary  who  spoke,  and  he  was  standing  beside 
the  kitchen  table  looking  in  on  them.  London's  mouth 
tightened.  How  much  of  their  conversation  had  O'Leary 
heard? 

"Good  afternoon,  Mr.  O'Leary,"  said  Kate,  rising  and  ad 
vancing  to  the  doorway.  "Looking  for  Dorothy,  aren't  you? 
Oh,  I  know  you  are.  You'll  find  her  down  at  Mrs.  Mace's. 
.  .  .  Yes,  it's  a  beautiful  day,  beautiful.  Good  after 
noon,  Mr.  O'Leary,  good  afternoon." 

In  the  face  of  this  Pete  O'Leary  departed.  Kate  went 
into  the  kitchen.  In  a  few  minutes  she  returned,  laughing. 

"He  didn't  go  into  Lil's,"  she  said.  "He  went  on  toward 
Main  Street.  I  watched  him.  He's  a  nervy  individual. 
Dorothy  doesn't  like  him,  and  I  don't,  either." 


162  PARADISE  BEND 

"I  wonder  if  he  did  come  to  see  Dorothy, 

"He  came  to  see  me." 

"You!"    London's  surprise  was  patent. 

"Yes,  isn't  it  charming?  Turned  him  out  in  quick  fashion, 
didn't  I?  The  pest!  Dorothy  said  he  clung  to  her  liJke  glue 
till  I  came.  He's  deserted  her  for  me  ever  since  the  dance. 
She  baked  me  a  cake.  Said  it  was  a  reward.  She'd  never 
been  able  to  get  rid  of  him.  But  I'm  afraid  Dorothy's  too 
tender-hearted.  I  don't  mind  being  rude.  Why,  what's 
the  matter?" 

"  I  was  just  a-wonderin'  how  much  that  fellah  heard? " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Kate,  carelessly.  "  We  weren't  talking 
loudly,  were  we?  Does  it  make  any  difference?" 

"  It  shore  does.  O'Leary's  in  with  the  88,  or  I'm  a  Dutch 
man." 

"He  is!" 

"Shore,"  London  nodded.     "I  got  proof  o'  that,  anyhow." 

"Heavens!  If  he  heard  what  we  were  saying  he'll  warn 
Blakely  and  the  rest.  And  we  can't  stop  him!  We  can't 
stop  him!" 

"Not  yet  we  can't.     I  can't,  special." 

Kate  stared  steadily  at  Loudon. 

"Tom,"  said  she,  after  a  silence,  "if  Pete  O'Leary  is 
Blakely's  friend  then  Pete  O'Leary  got  up  that  dance." 

"Oh,  I'm  bright!"  groaned  Loudon.  "I  must  be  losin' 
my  mind.  There  it  was,  plain  as  the  brand  on  a  hoss,  an* 
I  never  seen  it.  O'  course  it  was  him." 

"I'll  soon  find  out,"  Kate  exclaimed,  briskly.  "I'll  ask 
Lil  and  Dorothy  and  Mrs.  Ragsdale  and  Mrs.  Dan  Smith. 
They'll  know.  Do  you  mind  being  left  alone  for  a 
while?" 

"Not  a  bit— I  mean " 

"Now  never  mind.  I  know  perfectly  well  what  you  mean. 
Here,  I'll  put  your  gun  where  you  can  reach  it.  If  you  want 
anything,  shoot." 

She  plumped  his  pillow,  patted  and  pulled  the  blankets  to 
smoothness,  and  was  off. 

"Ain't  it  amazin'? "  marvelled  Loudon.    "Now  if  anybody 


A  HIDDEN  TRAIL  163 

had  told  me  that  I  could  talk  friendly  again  with  Kate  Sal- 
toun,  I'd  'a'  called  him  a  liar.  I  shore  would." 

Ten  minutes  later  plump  Mrs.  Mace  entered  and  inter 
rupted  a  flow  of  very  bitter  reflections  on  Pete  O'Leary. 

"Well,  Mister  Man,  how's  the  ankle?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Mace,  brightly.  "Now  don't  look  so  glum.  Kate'll  be  back 
before  a  great  while." 

"I  wasn't  thinkin'  o'  her,"  was  Loudon's  ungallant  retort. 

"Yuh'd  ought  to.  I  guess  yuh  was,  too.  Yuh  needn't  be 
bashful  with  me.  I'm  Kate's  best  friend.  An*  I  want  to 
tell  you  right  now  I'm  awful  glad  the  pair  of  yuh  got  over  yore 
mad.  It  don't  pay  to  quarrel.  I  never  do,  not  even  when 
Jim  Mace  comes  in  all  mud  without  wipin'  his  feet.  Lord, 
what  trials  you  men  are!  I  don't  really  know  how  we  poor 
women  get  along  sometimes,  I  don't  indeed.  Want  a  drink 
o'  water?  Yuh  can't  have  nothin'  else.  Mis'  Burr  said  yuh 
couldn't." 

"Then  I  guess  that  goes  as  it  lays.  But  I  ain't  thirsty,  an' 
I  don't  need  nothin'.  Honest." 

"Yes,  yuh  do,"  contradicted  Mrs.  Mace,  gazing  critically 
at  him.  "Yuh  need  yore  hair  brushed.  It's  all  mussed,  an* 
invalids  should  look  neat.  Don't  start  in  to  sputter.  I 
sha'n't  brush  yore  hair,  but  I'll  tell  Kate  she's[no  great  shakes 
for  a  nurse.  Now  I  think  of  it,  Kate's  hair  was  mussed  up 
some,  too.  H'm-m-m.  What  yuh  gettin' red  about?  No  call 
to  blush  that  I  can  see.  Oh,  you  men!" 

With  a  significant  wink  Mrs.  Mace  whisked  kittenishly  into 
the  kitchen.  Loudon  could  hear  her  lifting  stove-lids.  He 
perspired  freely.  The  lady's  weighty  bantering  had  raised 
his  temperature. 

What  a  world !  Scotty  urged  him  to  make  love  to  Dorothy. 
Mrs.  Burr  advised  him  to  set  matters  right  with  Kate.  While 
Mrs.  Mace  had  everything  settled.  Between  the  three  of 
them  and  his  other  troubles  he  believed  he  would  go  mad. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

KATE      IS      HELPFUL 

A1  SIX  o'clock  Kate  returned. 
"It  took  me  longer  than  I  expected,"  she  whispered, 
Dorothy  and  Mrs.  Mace  being  in  the  kitchen.     "It's 
just  as  we  thought.     Our  friend,  Mr.  O'Leary,  was  back  of  the 
dance.     He  suggested  it  to  Mrs.  Ragsdale,  and  she  got  it  up. 

"I  don't  believe  O'Leary  heard  any  of  our  conversation. 
He  met  me  down  street  and  smirked  and  grinned  and  tried  to 
invite  himself  up  to  see  me  to-night.  But  I  settled  him. 
I  said  I'd  be  busy  for  the  next  two  weeks.  Look  here,  Tom, 
don't  look  so  worried.  If  he  heard  what  we  said,  don't  you 
suppose  he'd  leave  town  immediately?  Of  course  he  would. 
He  wouldn't  dare  stay."  \ 

"I  ain't  so  shore  about  that.  He's  no  fool,  Pete  O'Leary 
ain't.  He  knows  there  ain't  no  real  evidence  against  him. 
We  only  got  suspicions,  that's  all.  Enough  for  us,  all  right, 
but  nothin'  like  enough  to  land  him.  No,  he  wouldn't  va 
moose  right  now.  That'd  give  him  away.  He'll  stay  an' 
bluff  it  through  as  long  as  he  can.  Then,  again,  if  he  pulls 
out  he  ain't  no  good  to  the  88  no  more.  He's  needed  up  here 
to  let  'em  know  how  things  are  pannin'  out.  Say,  yuh 
didn't  let  them  ladies  suspicion  what  yuh  was  after,  did  yuh?  " 

"Of  course  not.  I  have  a  little  sense.  I  made  my  in 
quiries  quite  casually  in  the  course  of  conversation.  Don't 
fret,  they  won't  have  a  thing  to  gossip  about." 

"That's  good.     I  might  'a'  knowed  yuh'd  be  careful." 

With  a  start  he  realized  that  he  was  commending  her, 
actually  commending  the  girl  who  had  once  informed  him  in 
withering  accents  that  she  would  never  marry  an  ignorant 
puncher.  Here  she  was  pathetically  anxious  to  execute  his 
every  wish.  Apparently  she  had  stopped  flirting,  too. 

164 


KATE  IS  HELPFUL  165 

As  she  flitted  between  his  room  and  the  kitchen  he  looked 
at  her  out  of  amazed  eyes.  Measuring  her  by  her  one-time 
frivolous  and  coquettish  actions,  the  new  Kate  was  rather 
astonishing.  Man-like,  Loudon  began  to  suspect  some  trap. 
The  lady  was  too  good  to  be  true. 

"Bet  she's  tollin'  me  on,"  he  told  himself.  "Ill  ask  her 
again,  an'  then  pop'll  go  the  weasel.  No,  sirree,  I  know  when 
I'm  well  off.  As  a  friend,  so  long  as  she  acts  thisaway, 
she's  ace-high,  but  I'll  bet  after  marriage  she'd  develop  tem 
pers  an'  things  like  that  Sue  Shimmers  girl  Scotty  told  me 
about.  Shore  she  would.  Not  a  doubt  of  it.  Yessir,  single 
cussedness  for  Tom  Loudon  from  now  on  henceforward.  I'll 
gamble  an'  go  the  limit,  it's  got  double  blessedness  backed 
clean  off  the  table." 

Lying  in  bed  was  not  doing  Tom  Loudon  a  bit  of  good. 
He  was  fast  becoming  priggishly  cynical.  Which  attitude  of 
mind  may  have  been  natural,  but  was  certainly  abominably 
ungallant. 

Long  after  the  others  in  the  house  were  asleep  Loudon  lay 
awake.  His  brain  was  busy  fashioning  plans  for  the  undoing 
of  the  88  outfit.  It  suddenly  struck  him  that  the  guileful 
O'Leary  undoubtedly  wrote  letters.  A  knowledge  of  the 
addresses  on  those  letters  was  of  paramount  importance.  It 
would  wonderfully  simplify  matters. 

The  storekeeper,  Ragsdale,  was  the  Bend  postmaster. 
Loudon  knew  that  Ragsdale  was  not  given  to  idle  chatter. 
He  resolved  to  take  Ragsdale  into  his  confidence. 

In  the  morning  after  breakfast,  Kate,  first  making  sure 
that  Mrs.  Mace  and  Dorothy  were  out  of  earshot,  stooped 
over  the  bed. 

"Tom,"  she  said,  "don't  you  think  I'd  better  find  out 
whether  O'Leary  writes  any  letters  and,  if  he  does,  to  whom 
he  writes  them?" 

Loudon  stared  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"Huh — how  did  yuh  think  o'  that?"  he  blurted  out. 

"I  don't  know.  It  came  to  me  last  night.  It's  a  good 
idea,  don't  you  think?" 

"Shore,  it's  a  good  idea.     I  was  thinkin'  the  same  thing 


166  PARADISE  BEND 

myself.  But  don't  yuh  bother.  I'll  find  out  soon's  I'm  able 
to  get  around." 

"Don't  be  silly.  You'll  be  on  your  back  ten  days  at  the 
least.  O'Leary  may  write  several  in  the  meantime,  and  the 
sooner  we  know  about  it  the  better.  Now  I  can  find  out 
very  easily.  Mrs.  Ragsdale,  the  prying  soul,  reads  the  ad 
dresses  on  every  letter  coming  in  or  going  out.  None  ever 
escapes  her  eagle  eye.  And  she's  a  great  gossip.  I've  only 
seen  her  half-a-dozen  times,  but  nevertheless  she's  managed 
to  give  me  detailed  histories  of  the  private  lives  of  most  of  the 
inhabitants.  She  enjoys  talking  to  me  because  I  never  in 
terrupt,  so  you  see  how  simple  it  will  be." 

"But  I  don't  like  to  use  you  thisaway,"  objected  Loudon. 
"Yuh've  done  enough,  too  much,  as  it  is." 

"Nonsense!  It  will  be  great  fun  turning  Mrs.  Ragsdale's 
tattlings  into  useful  information.  Tattle!  Why,  she  even 
told  me  how  much  you  approved  of  me  at  the  dance.  Accord 
ing  to  her  story  you  came  and  shouted  your  opinion  into  her 
ear.  Did  you?" 

"I  knowed  it!"  groaned  Loudon.  "I  knowed  she'd  tell! 
I  only  said " 

"Never  mind  getting  red.  I  didn't  mind  a  bit.  I  hoped 
you  did  like  me.  I  wanted  you  to." 

Here  was  thin  ice.  Loudon,  pink  about  the  ears,  squirmed 
inwardly. 

"I — I,"  he  stuttered,  then,  with  a  rush,  "yo're  doin  too 
much,  I  tell  yuh.  I'll  see  about  these  letters  when  I  get  up." 

"No,  you  won't.  I  want  to,  and  I'm  going  to.  It's  settled 
and  you  needn't  argue.  I'll  go  to  the  postoffice  right  away. 
After  dinner  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"Wait  a  minute!"  cried  Loudon,  but  Kate  was  gone. 

Loudon  had  little  time  to  reflect  on  feminine  wilfulness, 
for  Mrs.  Mace  insisted  on  spending  the  morning  with  him. 
Dorothy  helped  her  spend  it.  The  buzz  of  their  chatter  was 
lulling.  Loudon  dozed  off  and  slept  till  Mrs.  Mace  awakened 
him  at  noon. 

"  Nice  way  to  treat  two  ladies,"  sniffed  Mrs.  Mace.  " Nice 
way,  I  must  say.  Here  we  come  in  to  entertain  yuh  while 


KATE  IS  HELPFUL  167 

Kate's  away  and  yuh  fall  asleep,  so  yuh  do.  Bet  yuh  would 
n't  have  fell  asleep  if  Kate  had  been  here.  No,  I  guess  not. 
You'd  have  been  chipper  enough — grinnin'  and  smilin'  all  over 
yore  face.  But  yuh  can't  even  be  polite  to  Dorothy  and  me." 

"Why,  ma'am,  I " 

"Oh,  never  mind  makin'  excuses.  We  understand.  It's 
all  right.  Say" — Mrs.  Mace  stooped  down  and  guarded 
one  side  of  her  mouth  with  her  hand — "say,  when's  the 
weddin'  comin*  off?" 

"Weddin'?    What  weddin'?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  wonder  what  weddin'.  I  do,  indeed.  Well,  of 
course  yuh  don't  have  to  tell  if  yuh  don't  want  to.  I'll  ask 
Kate.  Dorothy" — she  straightened  and  called  over  her 
shoulder — "you  can  bring  in  Mr.  London's  dinner.  He's 
decided  to  stay  awake  long  enough  to  eat  it." 

He  ate  his  dinner  alone,  but  he  did  not  enjoy  it.  For,  in 
the  kitchen,  Dorothy  and  Mrs.  Mace  with  painful  thorough 
ness  discussed  all  the  weddings  they  had  ever  seen  and  made 
divers  thinly  veiled  remarks  concerning  a  certain  marriage 
that  would  probably  take  place  in  the  fall. 

"Say,"  called  Loudon,  when  he  could  endure  their  chatter 
no  longer,  "say,  would  yuh  mind  closin'  that  door?  I  got  a 
headache." 

Silence  in  the  kitchen  for  a  brief  space  of  time.  Then,  hi  a 
small  demure  voice,  Mrs.  Mace  said : 

"What  was  that?     I  didn't  quite  catch  it." 

With  elaborate  politeness  Loudon  repeated  his  request. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Mace,  "the  door  must  be  left  open. 
Mis'  Burr  said  so.  A  sick-room  needs  lots  of  fresh  air.  I 
wouldn't  dare  close  the  door.  Mis'  Burr  wouldn't  like  it." 

"She'd  scalp  us  if  we  closed  it  during  the  day,"  observed 
Dorothy. 

The  wretched  Loudon  could  almost  see  the  wink  which 
accompanied  this  statement. 

"But  he's  got  a  headache,"  said  Mrs.  Mace.  "We'd 
ought  to  do  somethin'  for  that.  Can't  allow  him  to  have  a 
headache,  Dorothy.  You  get  the  towels  an'  I'll  get  some  cold 
water.  We'll  bathe  his  head  for  him.  That'll  fix  him  up." 


168  PARADISE  BEND 

"It  ain't  as  bad  as  all  that,"  denied  Loudon.  "It's  goin' 
away  already.  An'  I  don't  want  my  head  bathed  nohow. 
An'  I  ain't  goin'  to  have  it  bathed,  an'  that's  flat!" 

At  this  juncture  Kate  entered  the  kitchen,  announcing 
that  she  was  starved.  Dorothy  and  Mrs.  Mace,  both  talking 
at  once,  asserted  that  Loudon  had  a  violent  headache  and 
would  not  allow  them  to  alleviate  his  suffering;  that  he  had 
been  a  most  troublesome  patient  and  had  kept  them  busy 
attending  to  his  manifold  desires. 

"Don't  you  believe  'em!"  cried  Loudon.  "I  ain't  done  a 
thing.  They  been  pesterin'  me  all  mornin'.  Won't  let  me 
sleep  or  nothin'." 

"There!  Listen  to  him!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mace.  "We 
did  our  level  best  to  please,  an'  that's  all  the  thanks  we  get. 
C'mon,  Dorothy,  let's  go  over  to  my  house.  We  ain't  wanted 
now.  Yore  dinner's  in  the  oven,  Kate.  He's  had  his. 
Hope  you'll  have  better  luck  managin'  him  than  we  did.  I'd 
sooner  wrangle  forty  hosses  than  one  sick  man." 

The  slam  of  the  kitchen  door  put  a  period  to  her  remarks. 
Kate  entered  London's  room,  a  pucker  of  concern  between 
her  eyebrows. 

"Have  you  really  a  headache?"  she  inquired. 

"Of  course  I  haven't.  But  they  was  botherin'  me — oh,  I 
dunno,  makin'  fool  remarks  an'  all  like  that.  Say,  did  yuh 
find  out  anythin'?" 

"  Not  much  of  any  value,  I'm  afraid.  But  you're  the  better 
judge  of  that.  Pete  O'Leary  writes  to  only  one  person — 
William  Archer  of  Marysville.  O'Leary  writes  to  him  once  a 
week  usually,  but  for  the  last  month  he's  written  twice  a 
week,  and  this  week  he  mailed  four  letters  to  Marysville." 

"Archer — Archer,"  mused  Loudon.  "I  can't  think  just 
now  of  anybody  o'  that  name  in  Marysville.  But  that  town 
ain't  such  a  great  way  from  the  88  ranch  house — not  more'n 
thirty  mile  at  the  most.  Archer,  whoever  he  is,  could  easy 
keep  in  touch  with — with " 

"Don't  boggle  so  over  that  man's  name.  You  don't  hurt 
my  feelings  in  the  least  by  mentioning  Sam  Blakely.  Yes,  he 
could  keep  in  touch  with  Blakely  very  easily.  I  learned,  too, 


KATE  IS  HELPFUL  169 

that  O'Leary  receives  letters  about  as  frequently  as  he  mails 
them.  They  are  all  in  the  same  handwriting,  and  they  are 
all  postmarked  Marysville.  One  came  for  him  this  morning. 
Mrs.  Ragsdale  let  me  see  it,  but  the  handwriting  was  strange 
to  me.  If  it  had  been  Blakely's  I'd  have  recognized  it.  I'll 
keep  in  with  Mrs.  Ragsdale.  I'll  visit  her  every  time  a  mail 
arrives." 

"No,  it  ain't  necessary.  It's  enough  to  know  he  writes  to 
Marysville.  First  thing  to  do  is  see  Archer,  an'  find  out  some 
of  his  habits.  He's  the  link  between  Pete  O'Leary  an'  the 
88,  that's  a  cinch." 

"Then  I  really  did  learn  something  of  value.  I  am  glad. 
I  was  afraid  it  wouldn't  be  worth  a  very  great  deal,  and  I  do 
so  want  to  help  you." 

"Well,  yuh  shore  have,  Kate.  Nobody  could  'a'  helped 
me  any  better.  But  don't  do  no  more.  There  ain't  no  reason 
why  you  should.  It  ain't  a  woman's  job  anyhow." 

"Oh,  you've  said  that  before.  I  intend  to  help  you  all  I 
can.  I'm  as  interested  as  you  are  in  the  ultimate  crushing  of 
the  88  outfit." 

"Yes,  but " 

"We  won't  discuss  it,  please.     How  does  the  ankle  feel?" 

"It's  comin'  along  fine.     I  want  to  get  up  right  now." 

"  Day  after  to-morrow  you  can  get  dressed  if  you  like  and 
sit  out  in  the  kitchen  for  a  while.  Oh,  I  know  how  hard  it  is 
to  lie  in  bed,  but  one  can't  hurry  a  sprain.  You  have  a  lot  of 
hard  work  ahead,  and  you  must  be  in  shape  to  go  through  with 
it.  Listen,  how  would  it  be  if  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Richie  of  the 
Cross-in-a-box  and  asked  him  to  find  out  about  this  Archer 
man?" 

"No,  I'd  rather  manage  that  myself.  I'll  go  to  Marys 
ville." 

"You  can't!  Why,  the  judge  who  issued  that  warrant 
for  you  lives  there!  You  insist  on  going  to  Farewell,  and 
that's  madness.  But  visiting  Marysville  would  be  worse." 

"Oh,  no,  it  wouldn't.  Nobody  knows  me  there.  I  was 
never  hi  the  place  in  my  life.  It'll  be  a  lot  safer  than  Fare 
well." 


170  PARADISE  BEND 

"  B-but  I'm  afraid !  I  know  something  will  happen  to  you ! 
I  know  it!  I  know  it!" 

"Nothin'll  happen,"  said  Loudon,  acutely  conscious  that 
the  situation  was  getting  out  of  hand. 

Presently  his  worst  fears  were  realized.  Kate,  genuine 
misery  in  her  dark  eyes,  stared  at  him  silently.  Her  hands 
were  gripped  together  so  that  the  knuckles  showed  white. 
Suddenly  she  turned  sidewise,  flung  an  elbow  over  the  back 
of  the  chair  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  She  began  to 
cry  softly. 

"Oh!"  she  wailed,  her  shoulders  shaking.  "Oh,  I  love 
you  so!  I  love  you  so!  And  you  don't  care — you  don't 
care  a  bit!" 

Sobs  racked  her  whole  body.  She  completely  lost  control 
of  herself  and  burst  into  a  storm  of  passionate  weeping.  To 
Loudon  it  seemed  that  this  state  of  affairs  endured  for  an 
age,  but  not  more  than  five  minutes  elapsed  before  Kate 
swayed  to  her  feet  and  stumbled  from  the  room.  She  did 
not  close  the  door,  and  Loudon  could  hear  her  muffled  gasps  as 
she  strove  with  her  distress. 

At  that  moment  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  girl  who  had 
called  him  an  ignorant  puncher  was  a  wraith  of  the  dim  and 
misty  past.  Certainly  the  present  Kate  Saltoun  was  a  differ 
ent  person.  She  no  longer  flirted,  she  was  plainly  sorry  for 
what  she  had  done,  and  apparently  she  loved  him  utterly. 

No  man  can  remain  unmoved  w^hile  a  beautiful  woman 
weeps  for  love  of  him.  Loudon  was  moved.  He  was  im 
pelled  to  call  to  her,  to  tell  her  to  come  to  him.  But  he  hesi 
tated.  He  was  not  at  all  sure  that  his  feeling  was  any  emotion 
other  than  pity.  He  had  spent  miserable  weeks  schooling 
himself  to  forget  his  love  and  her.  Now  he  did  not  know 
his  own  mind,  and  he  could  not  decide  what  to  do.  While  he 
lay  hesitating  he  heard  the  scraping  of  a  chair  being  pushed 
back,  the  sound  of  her  feet  crossing  the  floor,  and  the  slam  of 
the  kitchen  door. 

Half  an  hour  later  Mrs.  Mace  came  in  like  a  whirlwind. 
She  halted  in  the  doorway  and  surveyed  Loudon  with  un 
friendly  eyes.  She  opened  her  mouth  as  if  to  speak,  but 


KATE  IS  HELPFUL  171 

closed  it  without  uttering  a  word,  flounced  back  into  the 
kitchen  and  shut  his  door.  Almost  immediately  she  opened 
it. 

"Want  anythin'?"  she  inquired,  ungraciously. 

"No,  thank  yuh  just  the  same,"  replied  the  mystified 
London. 

Mrs.  Mace  closed  the  door  without  comment.  It  was  not 
opened  again  till  Dorothy  brought  in  his  supper.  She  in 
quired  politely  after  his  health,  but  he  could  see  that  she  was 
displeased  with  him. 

"What's  the  matter  with  everybody?"  he  asked.  "What 
makes  Mis'  Mace  look  at  me  like  I  was  poison,  an*  what 
makes  you  look  as  if  yuh  had  a  pain?" 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,"  said  Dorothy, 
severely,  and  marched  out,  her  back  stiff  as  a  rifle-barrel. 

"I've  done  somethin'  desperate,  whatever  it  is,"  he  said, 
addressing  the  closed  door.  "I  shore  have.  I  might  'a* 
come  to  like  that  Dorothy  girl  real  well — sometime  maybe. 
But  I  never  will  now,  an'  that's  no  merry  jest." 

Gloomily  he  ate  his  supper.  WTien  Dorothy  entered  to 
take  away  the  dishes  he  demanded  to  know  why  he  should  be 
ashamed  of  himself. 

"Because  you  should!"  she  snapped.  "I'm  not  going  to 
bandy  words  with  you !  Just  wait  till  mother  comes  home — 
just  you  wait!" 

After  which  ominous  utterance  she  departed.  Loudon 
scratched  his  head  and  thought  long  and  deeply. 

"Now  I'd  like  to  know  what  I've  done,"  he  mused.  "Mis' 
Mace  don't  like  me  a  little  bit,  an'  that  Dorothy  girl  talks  an* 
acts  like  I'd  poisoned  a  well  or  scalped  a  dozen  babies.  It's 
one  too  many  for  me.  But  I'll  know  about  it  when  Mis' 
Burr  gets  home,  will  I?  That's  fine,  that  is.  I'll  bet  she'll 
explain  till  the  cows  come  home.  Why  didn't  I  go  to  that  ho 
tel?  I  will  as  soon's  I'm  able.  This  house  ain't  no  place 
for  a  peace-lovin'  man." 

He  was  rather  relieved  that  Kate  no  longer  came  near  him. 
It  saved  trouble.  He  did  not  quite  know  what  he  would  say 
to  Kate  at  their  next  meeting.  What  could  he  say?  What, 


172  PARADISE  BEND 

indeed?  He  pondered  the  question  till  he  fell  asleep,  having 
arrived  at  no  conclusion. 

Next  morning  Jim  Mace  came  to  see  him.  Loudon  be 
sought  Jim  to  help  him  move  to  the  hotel. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  the  surprised  Jim.  "Don't 
my  wife  an'  Dorothy  treat  yuh  right?" 

"Shore  they  do,  but  I  don't  want  to  bother  'em  no  more. 
I'll  be  better  off  where  I  can  cuss  when  I  feel  like  it." 

"Mis'  Burr  won't  like  it  none,  yore  goin'  off  thisaway." 

"I  can't  help  that — I  want  to  go." 

"An'  my  wife  won't  like  it,  neither.  Lordy,  Tom,  yuh 
don't  know  my  wife.  She'd  hit  the  ceilin'  if  I  was  to  tote  yuh 
down  to  the  hotel." 

"Say,"  exclaimed  Loudon,  "can't  a  married  man  do  nothin' 
without  askin'  his  wife?" 

"Not  if  he  knows  what's  healthy,"  replied  Jim  Mace, 
warmly.  "I  tell  yuh,  Tom,  yuh'll  jump  through  a  hoop  if 
yore  wife  says  so.  Oh,  yuh  can  laugh  all  yo're  a  mind  to. 
Wait  till  yo're  married,  an'  yuh'll  see  what  I  mean." 

"I'll  wait,  yuh  can  gamble  on  that.  Will  yuh  help  me  or 
do  I  have  to  walk  there  on  my  hands?" 

"I  won't  help  yuh  a  step.  Yuh  don't  know  what  yo're 
askin',  Tom.  Honest,  I'm  sorry,  but  I  wouldn't  dare  help 
yuh  without  Lil  said  I  could.  Fix  it  up  with  her  an'  I 
will." 

When  Jim  had  gone  Loudon  swore  soulfully,  and  thought 
with  amazement  of  the  manner  in  which  Jim  was  under  his 
wife's  thumb.  If  that  was  the  effect  of  marriage  upon  a  man 
he  wanted  none  of  it.  He  had  no  desire  to  be  tied  to  any 
one's  apron-strings.  He  wished  to  be  able  to  call  his  soul  his 
own.  Marriage — bah ! 

"I  want  my  clothes,"  he  announced  to  Mrs.  Mace  at  noon. 

"Oh,  yuh  do,  do  yuh?"  cried  the  lady.  "Well,  yuh  can 
just  want,  so  yuh  can!  Yuh  won't  get  'em,  an'  that's  flat! 
An'  Jim  Mace  nor  nobody  else  ain't  goin'  to  help  yuh  down 
to  that  hotel.  Yo're  a-goin*  to  stick  right  here.  Jim  told 
me  yuh  wanted  to  go,  an'  what  I  told  him  was  a-plenty. 
Here  yuh  stay  till  yuh  go  back  to  the  ranch." 


KATE  IS  HELPFUL  173 

"But  I  want  to  get  up.  I'm  gettin'  plumb  weary  o'  stayin' 
in  bed." 

"  It  won't  hurt  yuh  a  bit.  You'll  have  lots  o'  time  to  think 
over  yore  sins." 

"I'll  get  up  anyhow." 

"  You  just  try  it !  I'd  shore  admire  to  see  yuh  try  it !  You 
ain't  goin'  to  play  any  fool  tricks  with  that  ankle  if  I  have  to 
get  Jim  an'  a  few  o'  the  boys  to  hogtie  yuh.  Tell  yuh  what 
I  will  do.  To-morrow,  if  you'll  give  me  yore  word  not  to 
leave  the  house  till  Mis'  Burr  or  I  say  you  can,  I'll  give  yuh 
yore  clothes  an'  you  can  sit  in  the  kitchen." 

"I  suppose  I'll  have  to,"  grumbled  Loudon. 

"You  shore  will  if  yuh  want  to  get  up,"  stated  the  un 
compromising  lady. 

"All  right.  I  give  yuh  my  word.  Lemme  get  up  now. 
The  ankle  feels  fine." 

"To-morrow,  to-morrow— not  one  second  sooner." 


CHAPTER    XVII 

MRS.     BURR      RELIEVES      HER      MIND 

ELJDON,  sitting  comfortably  in  a  big  chair,  his  lame  ankle 
supported  on  an  upturned  cracker-box,  gazed  at  the 
world  without  through  the  frame  of  the  kitchen  door 
way.     Leaving  his  bed  had  raised  his  spirits  appreciably. 
He  rolled  and  smoked  cigarettes  and  practised  the  road- 
agent's  spin  in  pleasant  anticipation  of  the  day  when  he 
would  ride  away  on  his  occasions. 

He  wondered  what  luck  Telescope  and  the  boys  were  hav 
ing.  Since  Swing  TunstalPs  visit  no  news  had  come  from  the 
Flying  M.  Humanly,  if  selfishly,  he  hoped  that  the  trailing 
would  meet  with  no  success  till  he  was  able  to  take  a  hand. 
His  altruism  was  not  proof  against  his  exceedingly  lively  de 
sire  to  share  in  the  downfall  of  the  88  outfit. 

He  essayed  to  draw  Mrs.  Mace  and  Dorothy  into  conversa 
tion,  but  both  ladies  were  grumpy,  and  he  gave  it  up  in  dis 
gust.  He  found  himself  listening  for  Kate's  footstep.  Awk 
ward  as  their  meeting  undoubtedly  would  be,  his  dread  of  it 
was  wearing  off. 

But  Kate  Saltoun  did  not  appear.  London  was  too  stub 
born  to  make  inquiries,  and  Mrs.  Mace  and  Dorothy  vouch 
safed  no  information.  In  fact,  save  to  squabble  with  him, 
they  rarely  opened  their  mouths  in  his  presence. 

A  week  later  Loudon,  a  home-made  crutch  under  his  arm 
pit,  was  able  to  hobble  about  a  little.  Within  two  weeks  he 
discarded  the  crutch  and,  having  obtained  permission  from 
Mrs.  Mace,  limped  to  the  corral  and  overhauled  his  saddle. 
That  afternoon  Mrs.  Burr  returned.  Loudon  saw  her  first 
and  crab-footed  to  the  other  side  of  the  corral.  The  precise 
nature  of  his  sin  was  not  clear  to  him,  but  Dorothy's  words 
had  been  disquieting.  And  now  "mother"  was  home. 

174 


MRS.  BURR  RELIEVES  HER  MIND          175 

Like  a  disobedient  small  boy  Loudon  wished  to  put  off  the 
interview  as  long  as  possible.  But  there  was  no  escape  for 
him.  Mrs.  Burr  marched  out  to  the  corral  and  cornered 
him. 

"How's  Scotty?"  inquired  Loudon,  affecting  an  ease  of 
manner  he  was  far  from  feeling. 

"Scotty's  doin'  very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Burr,  eying  him 
grimly.  "  He  don't  need  me  no  more.  That's  why  I'm  here. 
Young  man,  I  ain't  pleased  with  yuh.  I  ain't  a  bit  pleased 
with  yuh." 

"Why,  ma'am,  I  dunno  what  yuh  mean." 

"Yuh  will  before  I'm  through.  Gimme  that  saddle- 
blanket  to  set  on.  There!  Now,  Mister  Man,  I'm  goin'  to 
talk  to  yuh  like  I  was  yore  mother,  an*  I  expect  yuh  to  take  it 
that  way." 

"Shore,  ma'am,  fly  at  it.     I'm  a-listenin'." 

"Do  yuh  remember  a  certain  evenin'  down  at  the  Bar  S 
when  yuh'd  just  rid  in  from  Farewell  with  the  mail  an'  some 
ribbon  for  Kate  Saltoun?" 

Loudon  nodded. 

"Well,  Kate  asked  yuh  to  come  out  on  the  porch,  an'  yuh 
didn't  come.  Yes,  Sam  Blakely  was  there.  Yore  not  comin' 
at  her  invite  riled  Kate.  She  allowed  yuh  didn't  give  a  hoot 
for  her,  an'  when  Blakely  proposed  she  took  him.  She  was 
hoppin'  mad  with  you,  an'  she  was  bound  to  teach  yuh  a 
lesson. 

"No,  don't  interrupt.  Wait  till  I'm  through,  an*  yuh  can 
talk  all  yo're  a  mind  to.  Before  that  evenin'  it'd  been  nip 
an'  tuck  between  you  an*  Sam  Blakely.  An'  you  was  slow. 
My  fathers!  you  was  slow  about  speakin'  yore  little  piece! 
Tom,  a  girl  don't  like  for  a  man  to  keep  his  mouth  shut.  If 
he  loves  her,  let  him  say  so.  An'  you  didn't  say  so. 

"Then  again,  Kate  was  flattered  by  Blakely 's  attention. 
What  girl  wouldn't  be?  Tom,  yuh've  got  to  remember  a 
girl's  mind  ain't  built  like  a  man's.  She  don't  reason  the 
same  way.  She  can't.  Then,  again,  every  girl  is  a  coquette. 
Take  the  homeliest  slabsided  critter  in  creation,  an'  at  heart 
she's  just  as  much  of  a  coquette  as  a  she-angel  with  a  pretty 


176  PARADISE  BEND 

figger.  They  can't  help  it.  It's  born  in  'em  like  their  teeth 
are. 

"An*  you  men  don't  take  that  into  account.  You  think 
the  girl  you  admire  ain't  got  no  right  to  look  at  nobody  but 
you,  an'  that  she's  got  to  be  all  ready  to  fall  into  yore  arms 
when  you  say  the  word.  An'  if  she  don't  do  these  things  yuh 
rise  up  in  the  air  like  a  mean  pony  an'  go  cavortin'  off  sayin', 
'Drat  the  women!'  I  know  yuh.  Yo're  all  alike." 

"But,  ma'am,  I " 

"No  time  for  *I's'  now.  Like  I  says  before,  yuh  can  talk 
later.  Well,  here's  Kate  Saltoun — pretty  as  all  git-out,  an' 
assayin'  twelve  ounces  o'  real  woman  to  the  pound,  troy. 
Naturally,  like  I  says,  she's  a  coquette  an'  don't  know  her 
own  mind  about  the  boys.  None  of  'em  don't.  I  didn't . 
Well,  times  Kate  knows  she  loves  you,  an'  times  she  thinks 
she  loves  Blakely." 

"How  did  she  know  I  loved  her?  I  hadn't  said  a  word 
about  it." 

"My  fathers!  don't  yuh  s'pose  a  woman  knows  when  a 
man  loves  her?  He  doesn't  have  to  tell  her.  She  knows. 
Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  she's  a-waverin'  this  way  an'  that,  an' 
then  along  comes  that  evenin'  you  don't  go  out  on  the  porch, 
an'  she  kind  o'  guesses  she  loves  Blakely  an'  she  takes  that 
party.  Mind  yuh,  she  thought  she  loves  him.  Kate's  hon 
est.  She  couldn't  lie  to  herself." 

"She  did  when  she  said  I  drawed  first,"  said  Loudon  in  a 
low  voice.  "I  can't  get  over  that,  somehow." 

"Tom,  at  the  time  you  an'  Blakely  was  cuttin'  down  on 
each  other  Kate  was  excited.  She  couldn't  V  seen  things 
straight.  She  told  me  she  thought  yuh  drawed  first.  I  be 
lieve  her — why  can't  you?" 

"But  I  didn't  draw  first." 

"  I  know  yuh  didn't,  but  I  believe  Kate  when  she  says  she 
thought  you  did  draw  first.  That's  what  I  mean.  Under 
the  circumstances,  yuh'd  ought  to  believe  her,  too.  But 
never  mind  about  that  now.  You  cut  stick  an'  come  here 
to  the  Bend.  An'  Kate  begun  to  find  out  there  was  somethin* 
missin'.  Somehow,  the  Bar  S  without  you  didn't  seem  like 


MRS.  BURR  RELIEVES  HER  MIND          177 

the  Bar  S.  Before  yuh  lit  out  she'd  gotten  used  to  havin' 
yuh  around. 

"  Yuh  don't  miss  a  saddle,  Tom,  till  yuh  have  to  ride  bare 
back.  Same  way  with  Kate.  She  missed  yuh,  an'  as  every 
day  went  by  she  missed  yuh  more  an'  more.  Then  it  come 
to  her.  She  knowed  the  man  she  loved,  an'  that  feller  was 
you,  yuh  big,  thick-skulled  lummox !  Oh,  if  you  was  fifteen 
years  younger  I'd  lay  yuh  over  my  knee  an'  wear  out  a  quirt 
on  yuh  for  bein'  a  fool!  I  never  could  abide  a  fool.  But 
yuh'll  know  somethin'  before  I  get  through." 

"Don't  mind  me,  ma'am." 

"I  don't — not  a  bit!  I  like  you,  an'  I  just  love  that  Kate 
girl,  or  I  wouldn't  be  a-settin'  here  now.  Well,  when  Kate 
knowed  her  own  mind  at  last,  she  gave  Blakely  back  his  ring, 
an'  that  settled  him.  She  wanted  you  back,  an'  the  only 
way  she  could  think  of  to  get  yuh  back  was  to  go  after  yuh. 
So  she  done  it.  An'  you  had  to  fight  with  her  an'  drive  her 
away!  She  just  couldn't  wait  for  the  stage.  She  done  hired 
a  buckboard  an'  drove  back  to  the  Bar  S.  She  made  Dorothy 
an'  Lil  promise  not  to  tell  yuh  she'd  gone.  They  told  me. 
She  wouldn't  tell  'em  what  had  happened  between  you  two. 
But  she  was  cryin'  when  she  left,  so  don't  tell  me  yuh  didn't 
fight  with  her. 

"Lil  an'  Dorothy  guessed  it  right  away,  an'  they're  mad  at 
yuh,  you  bet.  Yuh've  busted  Kate's  heart,  that's  what 
yuh've  done.  Now  ain't  yuh  ashamed  o'  yoreself?  Don't 
yuh  think  yuh  didn't  act  just  right?  Don't  yuh  think  yuh 
might  'a'  been  just  a  little  bit  forgivin'  when  you  could  see 
the  girl  loved  yuh  with  all  her  heart?" 

"She  said  she'd  never  marry  a  ignorant  puncher." 

"I  know.  She  told  me  about  that  time  in  the  Bar  S 
kitchen.  Don't  yuh  understand — can't  yuh  get  it  through 
yore  head  that  happened  before  she  woke  up  to  the  fact  that 
you  was  the  only  feller  on  earth?" 

"Did  she  tell  yuh  all  this?" 

"She  did.  Poor  little  girl,  she  come  to  me  one  evenin', 
an '  she  was  all  wrought  up.  I  seen  somethin '  was  the  matter, 
an'  I  knowed  it  would  do  her  a  heap  o'  good  to  get  it  off  her 


178  PARADISE  BEND 

chest,  an'  I  got  it  out  of  her  little  by  little.  She  was  sobbin* 
like  a  young  one  before  she  was  through,  an'  I  was  a-holdin ' 
her  in  my  arms,  an'  I  was  cryin'  some  myself.  She  made  me 
promise  not  to  let  on  to  you,  but  I  ain't  a-goin '  to  set  by  an* 
see  her  hurt  when  a  word  or  two  from  me  can  set  things 
straight.  It's  the  first  time  I  ever  broke  my  word,  but  I 
don't  care.  I  aim  to  help  her  all  I  can." 

"Say,  did  she  tell  yuh  what  Blakely  done?" 

"No.     What  did  he  do?" 

"I  dunno.  She  hates  him  worse'n  poison  now.  He's 
done  somethin',  but  she  wouldn't  tell  me  what." 

"He's  been  botherin'  her  likely,  the  skunk!  You'd  ought 
to  crawl  his  hump  first  chance  yuh  get." 

"Maybe  I  will." 

"Looky  here.  I  ain't  quite  through.  What  did  you'n  her 
fight  about?" 

"Nothin',  ma'am.  Honest.  I'm  there  in  bed,  an'  all  of 
a  sudden  she  busts  out  cryin'  an'  says  she  loves  me,  an' 
then  she  goes  into  the  kitchen  an'  pretty  soon  she  goes  out — 
an'  she  never  does  come  back.  Then  in  comes  Mis'  Mace 
an'  she  acts  mighty  unpleasant,  an'  Dorothy  acts  the  same, 
an'  I  believe  I'd  ruther  been  at  the  hotel,  considerin'." 

"I  s'pose  yuh  just  lay  there  like  a  bump  on  a  log  after  Kate 
told  yuh  she  loved  yuh." 

"Well,  ma'am,  I — I — what  could  I  do,  ma'am?  I 
couldn't  get  up." 

"Yuh  might  'a'  spoken." 

"I  couldn't  think  o'  nothin'  to  say,  ma'am,"  pleaded 
Loudon. 

"WTell,  yuh  poor  tongue-tied  galoot!  Yuh  don't  deserve 
no  luck,  yuh  don't!  Well,  I've  said  my  say.  I've  done  all  I 
could.  Yuh  got  to  do  the  rest  yore  own  self.  But  if  yuh 
don't  go  an'  do  it  like  a  man,  then  I'm  disappointed  in  yuh." 

"  Did  Kate  tell  Mis'  Mace  an'  yore  daughter  what  she  told 
you?" 

"No,  she  didn't.     She  only  told  me." 

"Then  they  took  an  awful  lot  for  granted.  They  acted 
like  Kate  an'  me  was  in  love  with  each  other." 


MRS.  BURR  RELIEVES  HER  MIND          179 

"Well,  my  land!  They  could  see  Kate  cared  for  yuh. 
Anybody  with  half  an  eye  could  see  that.  Naturally  they 
didn't  s'pose  yuh  was  actin'  like  a  complete  idjit.  What 
yuh  goin'  to  do?" 

"I  dunno." 

"Yuh  dunno!  Yuh  dunno!  An'  Kate  all  but  goes  on  her 
knees  to  tell  yuh  how  sorry  she  is  for  what  she  done!  Not 
only  that,  but  she  says  she  loves  yuh  besides!  An*  all  yuh 
can  say  is  yuh  dunno.  My  land!  I  can't  say  what  I  think 
o'  yuh." 

"But  I  dunno,  I  tell  yuh,  Mis'  Burr.  I  wish  I'd  stayed  in 
Fort  Creek  County.  This  here  town  o'  Paradise  Bend  is 
shore  a  hot-house  o'  matchmakers.  First  Scotty — then 
you — then  Mis'  Mace.  Fine  lot  o'  Cupids,  you  are.  Can't 
let  a  fellah  alone.  Any  one  would  think  I  couldn't  manage 
my  own  affairs." 

"Yuh  can't.     In  a  case  like  this  yuh  need  help." 

"I'm  gettin'  it." 

"  Which  I  hope  it  does  yuh  some  good.  Now  I  ain't  a-goin' 
to  say  another  word.  I've  told  yuh  just  exactly  what  yuh 
needed  to  be  told.  Do  what  yuh  think  best.  How's  the 
ankle  gettin'  along?" 

"Can't  bear  my  full  weight  on  it  yet." 

"No,  nor  yuh  won't  for  a  few  days.  In  a  week  yuh  can  go 
out  to  the  ranch  if  yuh  like.  Scotty  wants  to  see  yuh  but 
he  said  special  yuh  wasn't  to  think  o'  comin'  till  yuh  was  all 
right.  Oh,  shore,  yuh'd  like  to  lope  right  off  an'  have  the  ankle 
go  back  on  yuh  an'  be  no  good  at  all  while  the  rest  o'  the  boys 
are  out  in  the  hills.  Don't  worry,  I'll  tend  to  yore  interests — 
an'  Scotty's.  I'll  see  that  yuh  don't  go." 

"I  wasn't  thinkin'  o'  goin',  ma'am,"  hastily  disclaimed 
Loudon.  "Are  Telescope  an'  the  outfit  havin'  any  luck?" 

"Not  a  smidgen.  The  boys  got  in  just  before  I  left. 
They  trailed  the  hoss-band  over  a  hundred  miles  an'  then 
lost  the  trail  near  Miner  Mountain.  A  rainstorm  did  that 
trick,  an'  they  couldn't  pick  up  the  trail  again  nohow." 

"Swing  Tunstall  was  right.  He  said  if  there  was  a  rain 
storm  round,  them  rustlers  would  locate  it." 


180  PARADISE  BEND 

"They  did." 

"The  outfit  ain't  quit,  has  it?" 

"They're  a-goin'  out  again.  Scotty  says  he  won't  quit 
till  he  finds  his  bosses." 

Loudon  spent  the  following  week  in  unobtrusive  shadowing 
of  Pete  O'Leary.  But  not  once  did  that  young  man  leave  the 
confines  of  Paradise  Bend.  The  fellow  spent  all  of  his  time 
loafing  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Burr  house  or  playing  poker  at 
the  Three  Card.  He  may  have  known  that  he1  was  being 
watched.  For  London's  methods  were  not  those  of  a 
Pinkerton  shadow. 

When  the  time  came  for  Loudon  to  depart,  Mrs.  Burr 
followed  him  out  to  the  corral. 

"Tom,"  said  she,  when  his  horse  was  saddled,  "Tom,  I 
like  you  an'  Kate.  I  like  yuh  both  an  awful  lot.  I'd 
shore  enjoy  seein'  yuh  both  happy.  Forgive  her,  Tom,  an' 
yuh  will  be  happy.  I'm  an  old  woman,  but  I've  seen  a  lot 
o'  life,  an'  it's  taught  me  that  love  is  the  biggest  thing  in  the 
world.  If  yuh  got  it  yuh  don't  need  nothin'  else.  Don't 
throw  it  away.  Don't.  Now  don't  forget  to  remember  me 
to  that  old  reprobate,  Scotty  Mackenzie,  an'  tell  him  me  an' 
Dorothy  are  comin'  out  to  see  him  in  a  couple  o'  days." 

The  new  Flying  M  cook,  a  citizen  of  the  Bend,  greeted 
Loudon  with  fervour. 

"  Thank  Gawd  yuh've  come ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  That  there 

Scotty  is  shore  the invalid  I  ever  seen!  Forty  times  a 

day  reg'lar  he  r'ars  an'  sw'ars  'cause  yuh  ain't  arrove  yet, 
an'  forty  times  a  day  he  does  likewise  for  fear  yuh'll  come 
before  yore  ankle's  all  right.  Yo're  the  bright  apple  of  his 
eye,  Tom.  How  yuh  done  it,  I  don't  see.  I  can't  please  his 
R'yal  Highness  in  a  million  years." 

"Oh,  it's  a  cinch  when  yuh  know  how,"  grinned  Loudon. 
"Where's  the  outfit?" 

"Most  of  'em  are  out  with  Telescope.  Doubleday  an' 
Swing  Tunstall  are  drivin'  a  bunch  o'  hosses  over  to  the  north 
range.  Mister  Mackenzie  is  a-settin'  up  in  the  office  doin' 
like  I  said." 


MRS.  BURR  RELIEVES  HER  MIND          181 

Loudon  went  at  once  to  the  office.  Scotty,  propped  in  an 
armchair,  evinced  no  sign  of  the  restlessness  mentioned  by  the 
cook.  He  shook  hands  calmly  and  smiled  cheerfully. 

"Glad  to  see  yuh,"  he  said.  "Set  down  an'  be  happy. 
How's  the  peg?  All  right,  huh?  That's  good.  Me?  Oh, 
I'm  pullin'  through  like  a  greased  fish.  I'll  be  poppin' 
round  jovial  an'  free  in  another  week  or  so.  About  them 
rustlers,  now.  I  think " 

"Say,  Scotty,"  interrupted  Loudon,  eagerly,  "I  got  a 
small  jag  o'  news.  I  dunno  what  yore  plans  are,  but  I'll 
gamble  what  I  got  to  say '11  make  a  difference." 

"Let  her  flicker." 

For  half  an  hour  Loudon  spoke  rapidly.  At  the  end  of  his 
recital  the  eyes  of  Scotty  Mackenzie  were  cold  and  hard  and 
very  bright. 

"What's  yore  plan?"  he  queried. 

"  Go  to  Farewell  an*  Marysville.  What  I  find  out  in  them 
two  places  will  show  me  what  to  do  next.  I'm  goin'  to 
Farewell  anyhow  on  my  own  hook." 

"If  I  say  no,  would  yuh  quit  me  now?" 

"I'd  have  to.  I  got  business  with  a  certain  party  in  Fare 
well.  After  I'd  finished  up  I'd  come  back  o*  course — if  yuh 
still  wanted  me." 

"Well,  I  don't  say  no.  I  think  yuh've  hit  it.  I  knowed 
yuh  was  Opportunity  with  a  big  O  when  I  hired  yuh.  Yuh've 
proved  it.  Fly  at  it,  Tom,  an'  prove  it  some  more.  Get  the 
evidence,  an'  I'll  do  the  rest.  We'll  wipe  out  the  88  ranch, 
hide,  hoof,  an'  taller.  There  ain't  a  ranch  in  Sunset  County 
that  won't  help.  We  can  count  in  the  Cr©ss-in-a-box,  the 
Double  Diamond  A,  an'  the  Hawgpen,  in  the  Lazy  River 
country,  too.  Oh,  we'll  fix  'em.  How  many  o'  the  boys 
do  yuh  want?  I  don't  begrudge  'em  to  yuh,  but  go  as  light 
as  yuh  can.  I  still  got  quite  a  few  bosses  left  to  wrangle." 

"Gimme  Telescope." 

"Is  he  enough?     I  can  spare  another — two  if  I  got  to." 

"Well,  yuh  see,  I  was  countin'on  borrowin' Johnny  Ramsay 
from  Jack  Richie,  an'  there's  Chuck  Morgan  o'  the  Bar  S. 
I  guess  I  can  get  him." 


182  PARADISE  BEND 

"  Get  him,  an'  I'll  give  him  a  job  after  it's  all  over.  Wish 
I  could  get  Johnny  Ramsay,  too,  but  he'd  never  quit  Richie. 
Well,  yuh  shore  done  noble  in  findin'  out  that  truck  about 
Pete  O'Leary." 

"  Yuh've  got  to  thank  Miss  Saltoun  for  that.  She  done  it 
all." 

"  Her !  Old  Salt's  daughter !  Say,  I  take  it  all  back.  She 
can  come  out  here  whenever  she  wants.  I'll  be  proud  to 
shake  her  hand,  I  will.  Well,  I  did  hope  it'd  be  Dorothy, 
but  now  I  suppose  it's  Miss  Saltoun.  Dunno's  I  blame  yuh. 
Dunno's  I  blame  yuh." 

"As  usual,  yo're  a-barkin'  up  the  wrong  stump.  I'm 
gun-shy  of  all  women,  an'  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  'em." 

"Oh,  all  right,  all  right,"  said  Scotty,  hastily.  "How 
soon  can  yuh  start?" 

"Right  now,  soon's  I  get  another  hoss." 

"Take  Brown  Jug.  He'll  tote  yuh  from  hell  to  breakfast 
an*  never  feel  it.  Yuh '11  find  the  outfit  som'ers  over  north  o* 
Miner  Mountain,  I  guess.  Tell  Telescope  I  want  him  to  go 
with  yuh,  an'  the  rest  of  'em  are  to  come  home  on  the  jump. 
Doubleday  an'  Swing  have  got  their  hands  full  twenty  times 
over.  First  thing  I  know  there  won't  be  a  cayuse  left  on  the 
ranch." 

Two  days  later  Loudon  and  Laguerre  rode  into  Rocket  and 
spent  the  night  at  the  hotel.  The  landlord,  Dave  Sinclair, 
had  an  interesting  tale  to  tell. 

"  Yest'day,"  said  Dave,  "Lanky  Bob  finds  Jim  Hallaway's 
body  in  a  gully  near  the  Bend  trail.  Jim  had  been  shot  in  the 
back,  an'  he'd  been  dead  quite  a  while.  Jim  an'  his  brother 
Tom  have  a  little  ranch  near  the  Twin  Peaks,  an'  Tom 
hadn't  missed  him  none  'cause  Jim,  when  he  left  the  ranch, 
expected  to  be  gone  a  month. 

"Come  to  find  out,  Jim  had  been  ridin'  a  bald-face  pinto. 
Accordin'  to  Tom's  description  that  pinto  was  the  livin* 
image  of  the  one  that  friend  o'  Block's  was  ridin'  the  day 
they  come  into  my  place  a-lookin'  for  information.  The 
sheriff's  got  a  warrant  out  for  that  Cutting  gent." 

"Hope  he  gets  him,"  said  Loudon;  "but  he  won't.     He's 


MRS.  BURR  RELIEVES  HER  MIND          183 

got  too  big  a  start.  I'd  shore  admire  to  know  what  he  done 
with  my  hoss." 

"You  hoss  brak  hees  laig,"  stated  Laguerre.  "Sartain 
shore  dat  what  happen." 

"I  guess  yo're  right,"  glumly  agreed  Loudon.  "He 
wouldn't  change  Ranger  for  no  bald-face  pinto  less'n  the 
chestnut  was  out  o'  whack  for  keeps." 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

A      MURDER      AND      A      KILLING 

EJDON  and  Laguerre  did  not  ride  directly  to  Farewell. 
The  three  months  Loudon  had  given  Blakely  would 
not  be  up  for  five  days.  The  two  men  spent  the  in 
tervening  time  in  the  country  between  the  Farewell  trail  and 
the  Dogsoldier  River.  Of  their  quarry  they  found  no  trace. 

Not  at  all  disheartened,  however,  they  rode  into  Farewell 
oh  the  morning  of  the  day  set  for  the  meeting.  As  usual, 
Bill  Lainey  was  dozing  in  front  of  his  hotel.  They  put  their 
horses  in  the  corral,  and  awakened  Lainey. 

"Shake  hands  with  Mr.  Laguerre,  Bill,"  said  Loudon, 
"an*  tell  me  what  yuh  know." 

"Glad  to  know  yuh,  Mr.  Laguerre,"  wheezed  the  fat  man. 
"I  only  know  one  thing,  Tom,  an'  that  is,  Farewell  ain't  no 
place  for  you.  I've  heard  how  there's  a  warrant  out  for  yuh." 

"Is  Block  in  town?" 

"Not  just  now.  He  rid  out  yest'day.  But  he  may  be 
back  any  time.  The  Sheriff  o'  Sunset's  here.  He's  lookin' 
for  Rufe  Cutting.  Seems  Rufe's  been  jumpin'  sideways 
up  north — killed  a  feller  or  somethin'.  The  Sunset  Sheriff 
allows  Rufe  drifted  south  in  company  with  Block.  Block, 
he  says  he  never  seen  Cutting.  Looked  like  a  shootin' 
for  a  minute,  but  Block  he  passed  it  off,  an'  left  town  'bout 
a  hour  later." 

"Well,  the  Sheriff  o'  Sunset  don't  want  me,"  observed 
Loudon,  "an'  he's  a  good  fellah,  anyway.  Guess  I'll  stick 
here  to-day.  Maybe  Block'll  come  back  an'  make  it  amusin'. 
See  anythin'  of  our  friend,  Mr.  Sam  Blakely?" 

"Sam  don't  never  drift  in  no  more,"  replied  Lainey. 
"Ain't  seen  him  since  I  dunno  when.  Some  o'  the  boys  do 
now  an*  then,  but  even  they  don't  come  like  they  useter. 

184 


A  MURDER  AND  A  KILLING  185 

Why,  last  Monday,  when  Rudd  an'  Shorty  Simms  sifted  in, 
was  the  first  time  in  three  weeks  that  any  o '  the  88  boys  had 
been  in  town.  Shorty  said  they  was  powerful  busy  at  the 
ranch." 

"That's  good.  It's  probably  the  first  time  they  ever  was 
busy.  See  yuh  later,  Bill.  S'long." 

"So  long." 

"I'll  bet  they  was  busy  them  three  weeks,"  said  Loudon, 
as  he  and  Laguerre  walked  away.  "The  evidence  is  be- 
ginnin'  to  show  itself,  ain't  it?" 

"You  bet,"  assented  Laguerre,  his  eyes  shining. 

Most  of  the  citizens  they  met  regarded  Loudon  with  non 
committal  eyes,  but  a  few  of  the  glances  were  frankly  un 
friendly.  The  two  men  entered  the  Happy  Heart  Saloon, 
there  being  sounds  of  revelry  within. 

On  a  table  sat  the  Sheriff  of  Sunset  County.  He  was 
heartily  applauding  the  efforts  of  a  perspiring  gentleman  who 
was  dancing  a  jig.  Loudon  perceived  that  the  sheriff,  while 
not  precisely  drunk,  was  yet  not  sober.  His  gestures  were 
free  and  his  language  freer. 

There  were  at  least  a  score  of  men  in  the  saloon,  and  they 
were  all  Block's  close  friends.  They  muttered  among  them 
selves  at  London's  entrance.  The  story  of  Block's  tarring 
and  feathering  had  lost  nothing  in  transmission. 

Loudon  and  Laguerre  made  their  way  to  the  far  end  of  the 
bar  and  ordered  drinks.  With  the  wall  at  their  backs  they 
were  reasonably  secure  from  treachery.  The  Sheriff  of 
Sunset  nodded  to  the  two  men  from  the  Bend  and  con 
tinued  to  shout  encouragement  to  the  jigging  citizen.  Fin 
ally,  the  dancer  succumbed  to  exhaustion.  The  sheriff 
slid  from  the  table. 

"Well,  I  got  to  be  wrigglin'  along,"  he  said.  "See  yuh 
later." 

"Not  yet,  Sheriff,  not  yet,"  protested  a  tall  man  with 
wolfish  features.  "Have  another  drink  first.  Just  one. 
Step  up,  gents,  step  up.  Name  yore  poison." 

"No,  not  another  one,"  said  the  sheriff,  but  his  tone  lacked 
conviction. 


186  PAKADISE  BEND 

He  had  another,  two  in  fact.  Again  he  started  for  the  door. 
But  the  wolf -faced  man  barred  the  way. 

"Sheriff,"  he  wheedled,  "what  yuh  say  to  a  little  game? 
Just  one  little  game.  Only  one.  Yuh  can't  be  in  such  a  all- 
fired  hurry  yuh  can't  stop  for  just  one." 

"I  got  to  get  Rufe  Cutting,"  said  the  sheriff.  "I  ain't 
got  no  time  for  poker." 

"Now,  looky  here,  Sheriff,"  coaxed  the  tempter, "yuh '11 
stand  just  as  much  show  o'  gettin'  Rufe  right  here  in  Fare 
well  as  yuh  will  anywhere  else.  What's  the  use  o'  ridin' 
the  range  an'  workin'  yoreself  to  death,  when  yuh  can  stay 
here  cool  and  comf 'table?" 

"Aw,  shut  up!     I'm  a-goin'." 

"Well,  o'  course,  if  yo're  broke " 

"  I  ain't  broke.     What  do " 

"  No  offence,  Sheriff.     No  harm  meant.     None  whatever." 

"I'll  play  yuh  one  game  an'  that's  all.     C'mon." 

The  sheriff  played  more  than  one  game,  for  he  won  the 
first.  He  continued  to  win.  He  thought  no  more  of  Rufe 
Cutting.  And  he  sat  with  his  back  toward  the  doorway. 
Which  position  is  the  most  eminently  unsafe  of  any  that  an 
officer  of  the  law  may  assume.  Once,  during  that  time, 
Laguerre  suggested  to  Loudon  that  they  go  elsewhere.  But 
Loudon  had  whispered: 

"Wait.     There's  somethin'  crooked  here." 

So  they  waited,  Loudon  watching  for  he  knew  not  what 
piece  of  evil,  Laguerre  mystified  but  thoroughly  prepared 
for  eventualities.  It  was  noticeable  that,  excepting  the 
card-players,  the  men  in  the  room  were  afflicted  with  a 
strange  restlessness.  They  moved  aimlessly  about;  they 
hitched  their  chairs  to  new  positions;  they  conversed  by 
fits  and  starts;  they  threw  frequent  glances  toward  the 
doorway. 

Suddenly  it  happened. 

A  squat-bodied  man  with  bat  ears  appeared  on  the  thresh 
old.  As  at  a  signal,  the  three  men  playing  with  the  sheriff 
flung  themselves  down  on  the  floor.  The  hand  of  the  squat- 
bodied  man  shot  up  and  forward.  A  revolver  cracked  twice, 


A  MURDER  AND  A  KILLING  187 

and  the  Sheriff  of  Sunset  County  quietly  crumpled  across  the 
card-table. 

Through  the  swirling  smoke  of  the  discharge  two  red 
streaks  flashed  as  the  six-shooters  of  Loudon  and  Laguerre 
barked  in  unison.  The  squat-bodied  man  fell  forward  on 
his  face. 

Head  and  shoulders  on  the  floor  of  the  saloon,  his  legs  on 
the  sidewalk,  he  lay  motionless.  Side  by  side,  the  souls  of 
the  sheriff  and  his  murderer  sped  homeward. 

The  habitues  of  the  Happy  Heart  unhurriedly  deserted 
their  points  of  vantage  against  the  wall,  on  the  floor,  or 
behind  the  bar,  and  gathered  about  the  corpse  of  the  squat- 
bodied  man.  They  gazed  upon  the  body  for  a  brief  space  of 
time,  then,  one  by  one,  they  stepped  carefully  over  it  and  de 
parted. 

"Gents,"  squeaked  the  perturbed  bartender,  "would  yuh 
mind  goin'  out  in  the  street?  I — I'm  goin'  to  close  up." 

"  It's  only  the  mornin ',' '  said  Loudon.     "  Why  close  up ?  " 

"I'm  sick.  I  got  indigestion  right  bad,"  the  bartender 
explained. 

Indeed,  the  bartender  looked  quite  ill.  His  complexion  had 
turned  a  pasty  yellow  and  his  teeth  were  clicking  together. 

"Yuh  look  right  bad,"  agreed  Loudon.  "But  yo're  mis 
taken  about  closin'  up.  Yo're  a-goin'  to  keep  open.  Tele 
scope,  let's  get  the  sheriff  spread  out  right." 

They  pushed  two  tables  together.  Then  they  lifted  the 
sheriff's  body  and  laid  it  on  the  tables.  They  unbuckled  the 
spurs,  straightened  the  limbs,  covered  the  still  face  with  the 
neck  handkerchief,  and  put  the  hat  over  the  gaping  wound 
in  the  chest  where  the  bullets  had  come  out.  When  they 
had  done  all  that  they  could  they  needed  a  drink.  The 
shivering  bartender  served  them. 

"  For  Gawd's  sake,  gents ! "  he  pleaded.  "  Block'll  be  here 
in  a  minute!  Go  out  in  the  street,  won't  yuh?" 

"* Block'll  be  here/"  repeated  Loudon.  "How  do  yuh 
know  he'll  be  here?" 

The  bartender  began  to  stutter.  His  complexion  became 
yellower.  Loudon  turned  to  Laguerre. 


188  PARADISE  BEND 

"Talks  funny,  don't  he?"  he  observed.  "Can't  say 
nothin'  but  'I.'" 

Reaching  across  the  bar,  he  seized  the  bartender  by  the 
shoulder. 

"Say,  fellah,"  he  continued,  "how  do  yuh  know  so  much 
about  Block?" 

"I— I— I "  sputtered  the  bartender. 

"I  thought  Block  had  left  town.  How  do  yuh  know  he's 
back?" 

The  bartender  changed  his  tune. 

"Ow!  Ow!"  he  yelled.  "Yo're  hurtin'  me!  My  shoul 
der!  Ow!" 

"I'll  hurt  yuh  worse  if  yuh  don't  spit  out  what  yuh  know 
about  Block  an'  his  doin's." 

"He— he— oh,  I  can't!     I  can't!"  wailed  the  bartender. 

"Block  shore  has  you  an'  the  rest  o'  these  prairie-dogs 
buffaloed.  I  just  guess  yes.  Well,  yuh  needn't  tell  me. 
I'm  a  pretty  good  guesser  myself.  Telescope,  let's  you'n  me 
go  call  on  Block." 

"I  am  you,"  said  Laguerre,  and  slid  through  a  rear  window. 
Loudon  followed.  They  hastened  along  the  rear  of  the  line 
of  houses  and  crouched  beneath  the  windowsill  of  a  small 
two-room  shack  at  the  end  of  the  street.  There  were  sounds 
of  a  hot  discussion  in  progress  in  the  front  room. 

"Guess  he's  home!"  whispered  Loudon.  "Might  as  well 
go  in." 

Gently  they  opened  the  back  door,  and  very  quietly  they 
tiptoed  across  the  floor  of  the  back  room  to  a  closed  door. 

"We've  got  to  hurry,"  a  voice  was  saying. 

"Shore,"  said  the  voice  of  Sheriff  Block.  "You  three 
cover  'em  through  the  back  window  when  me  an'  the  rest 
come  in  the  front  door.  Yuh  know  there  won't  be  no 
fuss  if  yore  fingers  slip  on  the  trigger.  I'd  rather  bury  a  man 
any  day  than  arrest  him." 

With  a  quick  motion  Loudon  flung  open  the  door. 

:<  'Nds  up!"  cried  he,  sharply,  covering  the  roomful. 

Ten  pairs  of  hands  clawed  upward.  There  were  eleven 
men  in  the  room.  Every  one  of  the  lot,  save  the  eleventh 


A  MURDER  AND  A  KILLING  189 

man,  had  the  impression  that  the  six-shooters  of  Loudon  and 
Laguerre  bore  upon  him  personally. 

The  eleventh  citizen,  being  nearest  the  door  and  possessing 
a  gambler's  spirit,  attempted  to  reach  the  street.  He 
reached  it — on  his  face.  For  Loudon  had  driven  an  accurate 
bullet  through  the  fleshy  part  of  his  thigh. 

"The  next  fellah,"  harshly  announced  Loudon,  "who 
makes  any  fool  breaks  will  get  it  halfway  beneath  his  mind 
an'  his  mouth.  There's  a  party  in  the  corner,  him  with  the 
funny  face — he  ain't  displayin'  enough  enthusiasm  in  reachin' 
for  the  ceilin'.  If  he  don't  elevate  his  flippers  right  smart 
an'  sudden,  he  won't  have  no  trouble  at  all  in  reachin'  the 
stars." 

The  biceps  of  the  gentleman  of  the  face  immediately 
cuddled  his  ears.  The  ten  men  were  now  painfully  rigid. 
They  said  nothing.  They  did  not  even  think  to  swear. 
They  knew  what  they  deserved  and  they  dreaded  their 
deserts. 

''Telescope,"  observed  Loudon,  softly,  "s'pose  yuh  go 
round  an'  unbuckle  their  belts.  Better  go  through  'em,  too. 
They  might  carry  shoulder-holsters  under  their  shirts.  Take 
the  hono'ble  Mister  Sheriff  Block  first.  That's  right.  Now, 
Mister  Sheriff,  go  an'  stand  in  that  corner,  face  to  the  side  wall, 
an*  keep  a-lookin'  right  at  the  wall,  too.  I  wouldn't  turn 
my  head  none,  neither.  Yuh  see,  I  don't  guess  there'd  be  no 
fuss  made  if  my  finger  should  slip  on  the  trigger.  It's  a  heap 
easier  to  bury  a  man  than  arrest  him,  ain't  it?" 

Loudon  laughed  without  mirth.  Block's  nine  friends, 
murder  in  their  eyes,  stared  at  Loudon.  He  stared  back, 
his  lips  drawn  to  a  white  line. 

"  Yo're  a  healthy  lot  o'  killers,"  commented  he. 

The  last  belt  and  six-shooter  thudded  on  the  floor  just  as 
Loudon  perceived  that  the  wounded  citizen  in  the  street  was 
endeavouring  to  crawl  away. 

"Telescope,"  he  said,  "I  guess  now  the  party  in  the  street 
would  feel  a  heap  easier  in  here  with  all  his  friends." 

Telescope  marched  out  into  the  street  and  removed  the 
wounded  man's  gun.  Then  he  seized  him  by  the  collar, 


190  PARADISE  BEND 

dragged  him  into  the  shack,  and  dumped  him  in  a  corner. 
Meanwhile,  Loudon  had  lined  up  the  nine  beltless  citizens 
beside  Block  against  the  side  wall.  They  stood,  stomachs 
pressed  against  the  planks,  a  prey  to  violent  emotions. 

"  Yuh  can  rest  yore  hands  against  the  wall,**  said  Loudon, 
kindly,  "an*  that's  just  all  yuh  can  do.*' 

"Gimme  a  drink!"  gasped  the  wounded  man. 

Telescope  scooped  up  a  dipperful  from  the  bucket  under 
the  table.  When  the  man  had  drunk,  Telescope  proceeded  to 
cut  away  his  trouser-leg  and  wash  and  expertly  bandage  the 
wound.  His  work  of  mercy  finished  the  efficient  Telescope 
took  post  near  the  doorway  where  he  could  watch  the  street. 

Loudon  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  table  and  rolled  a 
cigarette  one-handed.  A  silence,  marred  only  by  the 
flurried  breathing  of  the  stuck-up  gentlemen,  fell  upon  the 
room. 

"Block,**  said  Loudon,  suddenly,  "where's  Blakely?" 

Block  maintained  his  attitude  of  silent  protest.  Loudon 
gently  repeated  his  question.  Block  made  no  reply. 

Bang-g  !  Block  convulsively  shrank  to  one  side.  The 
line  of  citizens  shook.  Smoke  curled  lazily  from  the  muzzle 
of  Loudon*s  six-shooter. 

"Block,**  observed  Loudon,  serenely,  "get  back  in  position. 
That*s  right.  Next  time,  instead  o*  shadin*  yore  ear  1*11 
graze  it.  Now  where *s  Blakely?" 

"I  dunno,"  replied  Block  in  a  choked  tone  of  voice. 

"Well,  maybe  yuh  don't,  maybe  yuh  don't.  Ain't  he  at 
the  ranch  no  more?" 

"I  ain't  been  to  no  ranch." 

"I  didn't  say  yuh  had,  did  I?"  mildly  reproved  Loudon. 
"But  now  that  yuh've  brought  it  up,  where  did  yuh  pick  up 
Shorty  Simms?" 

"What  do  yuh  mean?" 

"Oh,  1*11  explain  to  yuh.  I  always  do  that.  Habit  I  got. 
Yuh  see,  Block,  yest'day  after  you  an  *  the  Sheriff  o '  Sunset 
had  a  few  words  yuh  left  town.  To-day  in  comes  Shorty 
Simms  an '  kills  the  sheriff — shoots  him  in  the  back,  which  is 
natural  for  a  killer  like  Shorty. 


A  MURDER  AND  A  KILLING  191 

"Well,  Block,  between  the  time  o'  yore  ridin*  away 
yest'day  an*  the  murder  o'  the  sheriff  to-day  a  fellah  on  a 
hoss  like  yores  would  just  about  have  time  to  ride  to  the 
88  ranch  an'  back.  O'  course  the  fellah  wouldn't  have  time 
for  pickin'  posies  on  the  way,  but  he  could  make  it  by  steady 
ridin'.  Think  hard  now,  Block,  think  hard.  Ain't  it  just 
possible  yuh  rid  over  to  the  88?" 

"No, yuh,  I  didn't!" 

"No?  Well,  now,  ain't  that  curious?  I  shore  thought  yuh 
did.  Telescope,  I  think  I  see  a  couple  o'  bosses  in  Block's 
corral.  Would  yuh  mind  ridin'  herd  on  this  bunch  while  I  go 
out  an'  look  at  'em?  " 

London  went  out  into  the  street.  Far  down  the  street  a 
group  of  men  had  gathered.  Otherwise  the  street  was  de 
serted.  Even  Bill  Lainey  had  disappeared. 

Loudon  stopped  and  stared  at  the  distant  figures.  They 
made  no  hostile  motions,  but  appeared  to  hold  converse  with 
each  other.  One  detached  himself  from  the  group  and  came 
toward  Loudon.  He  saw  that  it  was  his  friend,  Mike  Flynn, 
the  one-legged  proprietor  of  the  Blue  Pigeon  Store.  The 
red-headed  Irishman,  his  mouth  a-grin  from  ear  to  ear,  halted 
in  front  of  Loudon  and  stretched  out  his  hamlike  paw. 

"H'are  yuh,  Tom,  me  lad,"  he  said,  giving  Loudon's  hand 
a  terrific  grip.  "I'm  glad  to  see  yuh,  an'  that's  the  truth. 
Others  are  not  so  glad,  I'm  thinkin'."  He  peered  through  the 
doorway.  "I  thought  so.  'T's  all  right,  Tommy,  me  an' 
me  friends  is  with  yuh  heart  an'  soul.  Though  Farewell 
don't  look  it  they's  a  few  solid  min  like  meself  in  the  place 
who  are  all  for  law  an'  order  an'  a  peaceful  life.  But  they 
ain't  enough  of  us,  djuh  see,  to  get  all  we  want  to  once. 

"Still,  we  can  do  somethin',  so,  Tommy,  me  lad,  go  as  far 
as  yuh  like  with  Block  an'  his  constituents  yuh  got  inside. 
Put  'em  over  the  jumps.  Me  an'  me  frinds  will  see  that 
they's  no  attimpts  made  at  a  riscue.  We  will  that.  Be 
aisy.  If  yuh  have  a  chance  come  to  the  Blue  Pigeon.  Not  a 
word.  Not  a  word.  I  know  yo're  busy." 

Mike  Flynn  returned  whence  he  came.  Loudon  was  con 
siderably  relieved  by  what  the  Irishman  had  said.  For  only 


192  PARADISE  BEND 

ten  of  the  men  who  had  been  in  the  Happy  Heart  were  in 
Block's  shack,  and  the  absence  of  the  others  had  given  him 
much  food  for  thought.  He  hastened  to  inspect  the  horses 
in  the  corral.  Within  three  minutes  he  had  resumed  his 
seat  on  Block's  table. 

;<  'Course  I  ain't  doubtin'  yore  word,  Block,"  he  observed, 
"  but  one  o'  them  hosses  is  yore  black,  an'  the  other  hoss  is  a 
gray  pony  branded  88  an'  packin'  a  saddle  with  Shorty 
Simms's  name  stamped  on  the  front  o'  the  cantle.  Both 
hosses  look  like  they'd  been  rode  fast  an'  far.  Well,  Shorty's 
dead,  anyway.  You  yellow  pup,  yuh  didn't  have  nerve 
enough  to  shoot  it  out  with  the  sheriff  yore  own  self!  Yuh 
had  to  go  get  one  o'  Blakely's  killers  to  do  yore  dirty  work  for 
yuh." 

"Wat  you  say,  Tom?"  queried  Laguerre.  "Keel 
heem  un  tak  hees  hair,  huh?" 

"It'd  shore  improve  him  a  lot.  I  got  a  plan,  Telescope. 
Just  wait  a  shake.  Block,  where's  Rufe  Cutting  an'  what 
happened  to  my  hoss  Ranger?" 

"I  dunno  nothin'  about  Cutting,"  mumbled  Block. 

Instantly  London's  six-shooter  cracked.  With  a  yelp  of 
pain  Block  leaped  a  yard  high  and  clapped  a  hand  to  his  head. 

"Up  with  them  hands!"  rapped  out  London.  "Up 
with  'em!" 

Block,  shaking  like  a  cedar  branch  in  a  breeze,  obeyed. 
From  a  ragged  gash  in  the  Darwinian  tubercle  of  his  right  ear 
blood  trickled  down  his  neck. 

"Block,"  said  London  in  his  gentlest  tone,  "I  wish  yuh'd 
give  me  some  information  about  Rufe.  I'll  ask  yuh  again, 
an'  this  time  if  yuh  don't  answer  I'll  ventilate  yore  left  ear, 
an'  I'll  use  one  o'  these  guns  on  the  floor  here.  Yuh  got  to 
make  allowances  for  ragged  work.  I  won't  know  the  gun 
like  I  do  my  own,  an'  I  may  make  more  of  a  shot  than  I  mean 
to.  Yuh  can't  tell." 

He  drew  a  six-shooter  from  one  of  the  dropped  holsters, 
and  cocked  it. 

"Where's  Rufe  Cutting  an'  my  hoss  Ranger?"  continued 
London. 


A  MURDER  AND  A  KILLING  193 

"I  dunno!  I  tell  yuh  I  dunno!"  squealed  the  desperate 
sheriff. 

One  of  the  two  guns  in  London's  hands  spoke  twice. 
Block  fell  to  his  knees,  his  hands  gripping  his  head. 

"Get  up!"  shouted  Loudon.  "Get  up!  It's  only  yore 
ear  again.  I  used  my  own  gun  after  all!" 

Then,  both  what  he  had  undergone  at  the  hands  of  Block 
and  the  loss  of  his  pet  suddenly  overwhelming  him,  he  leaped 
at  the  crouching  sheriff  and  kicked  him. 

"You  murderer!"  he  gritted  through  his  teeth. 

"Where's  my  hoss?  Where  is  he? yore  soul!  What 

did  Rufe  do  to  him?  Tell  me,  or  by  I'll  beat  yuh 

to  death  here  an'  now!" 

And  with  his  wire-bound  Mexican  quirt  Loudon  pro 
ceeded  savagely  to  lash  the  sheriff.  Loudon  was  a  strong 
man.  He  struck  with  all  his  might.  The  double  thongs 
bit  through  vest  and  flannel  shirt  and  raised  raw  welts  on 
the  flesh. 

The  sheriff  writhed  around  and  flung  himself  blindly  at  his 
torturer.  But  Loudon  kicked  the  sheriff  in  the  chest  and 
hurled  him,  a  groaning  heap,  into  his  corner.  Nor  did  he 
cease  to  thrash  him  with  the  quirt.  Between  blows  he 
bawled  demands  for  news  of  his  horse.  Loudon  felt  sure 
that  Ranger  was  dead,  but  he  wished  to  clinch  the  fact. 

"  He's  gone !  Oh,  my  Gawd !  He's  gone  south ! "  screamed 
Block,  unable  to  withhold  utterance  another  second. 

Loudon  held  the  quirt  poised  over  his  shoulder. 

"Yuh  mean  Rufe  Cutting?"  he  inquired. 

"  Both  of  'em !     Rufe  an'  the  hoss !     They're  both  gone ! " 

"Yuh  mean  Rufe  has  took  my  hoss  away?" 

"Yes!     Yes!     Don't  hit  me  with  that  again." 

Loudon  did  not  know  whether  to  believe  the  sheriff.  It 
was  more  than  possible  that  Block  was  lying  to  escape  further 
punishment.  Loudon  stared  at  him.  He  made  an  ugly 
picture  lying  there  on  the  floor,  his  face  a  network  of  red 
welts.  His  shirt  was  dabbled  and  stained  with  the  blood 
from  his  wounded  ears. 

"I  was  goin'  to  give  yuh  a  chance,"  said  Loudon,  slowly. 


194  PARADISE  BEND 

"  I  was  aimln'  to  give  yuh  yore  gun  an'  let  yuh  shoot  It  out 
with  me.  But  I  can't  do  that  now.  Yuh  ain't  in  no  shape 
for  shootin'.  It'd  be  like  murder  to  down  yuh,  an*  I  ain't 
goin'  to  practise  murder  even  on  a  dog  like  you.  I'm  kind 
o'  sorry  I  feel  that  way  about  it.  Yuh  don't  deserve  to  live  a 
minute." 

"You  keel  heem,"  put  in  Laguerre.  "She  try  for  keel  you 
een  de  Ben'.  Or  I  keel  heem.  I  don*  care.  So  she  die, 
dat's  enough." 

"Can't  be  did,  Telescope." 

"I  tell  you,  my  frien',  you  let  heem  go,  she  mak  plenty 
trouble." 

"We've  got  to  risk  that.  Yuh  can't  murder  a  man, 
Telescope.  Yuh  just  can't." 

Laguerre  shrugged  expressive  shoulders  and  said  no  more. 
It  was  London's  business.  He  was  boss  of  the  round-up. 

"Yuh  see  how  it  is,  Block,"  observed  Loudon.  "I 
can't  down  yuh  now,  but  next  time  we  meet  it's  shoot  on 
sight.  Next  time  yuh  see  Blakely  tell  him  I  expected  to  meet 
him  here  in  Farewell.  I  don't  guess  he'll  come  now.  Still, 
on  the  off  chance  that  he  does,  me  an*  my  friend  will  stay 
till  sunset.  Telescope,  I  feel  sort  o*  empty.  Guess  I'll  go  in 
the  back  room  an '  rustle  some  chuck. ' ' 

While  Loudon  and  Laguerre  were  eating,  the  sheriff  fainted. 
The  strain  of  standing  upright  combined  with  the  rough 
handling  he  had  received  had  proved  too  much  for  him. 
Laguerre  threw  the  contents  of  the  water  bucket  over  the 
sheriff. 

When  the  sheriff  recovered  consciousness  Loudon  gave  the 
nine  citizens  permission  to  sit  on  the  floor.  And  they  sat 
down  stiffly. 

Slowly  the  long  hours  passed.  Occasionally  Loudon 
walked  to  the  door  and  looked  up  and  down  the  street. 
Apparently  Farewell  dozed. 

But  it  was  far  from  being  asleep.  Here  and  there,  leaning 
against  the  house  walls  in  attitudes  of  ease,  were  men. 
These  men  were  posted  in  pairs,  and  Loudon  saw  Mike 
Flynn  stumping  from  one  couple  to  another.  One  pair  was 


A  MURDER  AND  A  KILLING  195 

posted  across  the  street  from  the  sheriff's  shack.  The  first 
time  Loudon  appeared  in  the  doorway  these  two  nodded,  and 
one  waved  his  arm  in  friendly  fashion.  There  were  only 
twelve  in  all  of  these  sentinels,  but  their  positions  had  been 
chosen  with  strategic  wisdom.  Any  attempt  at  a  rescue 
would  be  disastrous  to  the  rescuers. 

"Well,"  said  Loudon  when  the  sun  was  near  its  setting, 
"we  might  as  well  be  movin',  Telescope." 

"Mabbeso  our  bosses  been  rustle',"  suggested  Laguerre. 

"  If  they  are  we'll  get  'em  back.  Our  friends  here'll  fix  that 
up  O.  K." 

The  friends  glared  sullenly.  They  wanted  blood,  and  lots 
of  it.  They  had  been  stuck  up  and  reviled,  two  of  them  had 
been  wounded,  and  their  self-respect  had  been  grievously 
shattered.  Vengeance  would  be  very  sweet.  They  wished 
for  it  with  all  the  power  of  very  evil  hearts. 

Loudon  gathered  up  all  the  cartridge-belts  and  six-shooters 
and  strung  them  together.  He  slung  the  bundle  over  his 
shoulder  and  addressed  his  captives. 

"You  fellahs  stand  on  yore  feet.  Yo're  goin'  down  street 
with  us.  Telescope*  I'll  wait  for  'em  outside.  Send  'em 
out,  will  yuh." 

Loudon  stepped  into  the  street.  One  by  one  the  men 
came  out  and  were  lined  up  two  by  two  in  the  middle  of  the 
street. 

The  last  man  was  the  sheriff.  He  did  not  shamble,  and 
he  did  not  keep  his  eyes  on  the  ground  in  the  manner  of  a 
broken  man.  It  was  evident  that  the  virtue  which  passed 
with  him  for  courage  had  returned.  Even  as  Captain  Burr 
had  remarked,  Sheriff  Block  was  not  as  other  men.  He 
was  a  snake.  Nothing  but  the  bullet  that  killed  him  could 
have  any  effect  upon  his  reptilian  nature.  This  Loudon 
realized  to  the  full. 

"I'm  watchin'  yuh,  Block,"  he  said.  "My  hand  ain't 
none  shaky  yet,  even  if  I  have  been  holdin'  a  gun  on  yuh  all 
day." 

Block  shot  him  a  venomous  side  glance  and  then  looked 
straight  ahead. 


196  PARADISE  BEND 

"Git  along,  boys,"  ordered  Loudon.  "We'll  be  right  be 
hind  yuh." 

With  Loudon  and  Laguerre  marching  on  the  right  and  left 
flank  rear  respectively  the  procession  trailed  down  the  street 
till  it  arrived  opposite  Bill  Lainey 's  hotel.  There,  in  obe 
dience  to  London's  sharp  command,  it  halted.  While 
Laguerre  guarded  the  prisoners  Loudon  went  to  the  corral. 
He  found  Lainey  sitting  on  a  wagon-box  beside  the  gate,  a 
double-barrelled  shotgun  across  his  knees.  Lainey  was  ex 
cessively  wide  awake. 

"Did  somebody  come  a-lookin'  in  at  our  hosses?"  drawled 
Loudon. 

"Somebody  did,"  wheezed  Lainey.  "Somebody  near  had 
both  of  'em  out  the  gate,  but  I  had  this  Greener  handy,  an 

he  faded.  By !  I'd  shore  admire  to  see  any  tin-horn 

rustle  hosses  out  o'  my  corral.  They're  fed  an'  watered, 
Tom,  an'  my  wife's  done " 

"Yes,  Mr.  Loudon,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Lainey,  sticking  her 
lean  head  out  of  the  kitchen  window.  "I  knowed  yuh 
wouldn't  have  no  time  to  eat,  so  I  just  rolled  up  some  canned 
tomatters  an'  canned  peaches  an'  some  beans  an'  some  bacon 
an'  a  little  jerked  beef  in  yore  slickers.  Ain't  it  hot?  My 
land!  I'm  most  roasted  to  death.  How'd  yuh  like  it  up 
no'th?" 

"Fine,  Mis'  Lainey,  fine,"  replied  Loudon.  "I'm  obliged 
to  yuh,  ma'am.  I  hope  next  time  I'm.  in  town  I  won't 
be  so  rushed  an'  I'll  have  time  to  stay  awhile  an'  eat  a 
reg'lar  dinner.  I  tell  yuh,  ma'am,  I  ain't  forgot  yore 
cookinV 

"Aw,  you  go  'long!"  Mrs.  Lainey  giggled  with  pleasure 
and  withdrew  her  head. 

"Bill,"  said  Loudon,  "yo're  a  jim-hickey,  an'  I  won't 
forget  it.  Let's  see — four  feeds,  two  dinners.  How  much?" 

"Nothin',  Tom,  nothin'  a-tall.  Not  this  trip.  It's  on  the 
house.  This  is  the  first  time  I  ever  had  a  real  chance  to  pay 
yuh  back  for  what  yuh  done  for  my  kid.  Don't  say  nothin', 
now.  Tom,  I  kind  o'  guess  Farewell  is  due  to  roll  over  soon. 
Me  an'  Mike  Flynn  an'  Piney  Jackson,  the  blacksmith,  an'  a 


A  MURDER  AND  A  KILLING  197 

few  o'  the  boys  are  gettin'  a  heap  tired  o'  Block  an'  his  little 
ways." 

"I  thought  Piney  was  a  friend  o'  Block's." 

"He  was,  but  Block  ain't  paid  for  his  last  eight  shoein's,  an' 
Piney  can't  collect,  an'  now  he  ain't  got  a  bit  o'  use  for  the 
sheriff.  Some  day  soon  there's  goin'  to  be  a  battle.  Downin' 
the  Sheriff  o'  Sunset  just  about  put  the  hat  on  the  climax. 
Folks'll  take  us  for  a  gang  o'  murderers.  Well,  I'm  ready. 
Got  this  Greener  an'  a  buffler  gun  an'  four  hundred  cart 
ridges.  Oh,  I'm  ready,  you  bet!" 

Loudon,  leading  the  two  horses,  rejoined  his  comrade. 
The  animals  were  fractious,  yet  Loudon  and  Laguerre  swung 
into  their  saddles  without  losing  for  an  instant  the  magic  of 
the  drop. 

"We  got  here  without  no  trouble,"  Loudon  observed  in  a 
loud  tone.  "We're  goin'  back  the  way  we  came.  We'll 
hope  that  nobody  turns  loose  any  artillery  from  the  sidewalk. 
If  they  do  you  fellahs  won't  live  a  minute." 

No  shots  disturbed  the  almost  pastoral  peace  of  Farewell  as 
prisoners  and  guards  retraced  their  steps.  Opposite  the 
sheriff's  shack  the  convoy  began  to  lag. 

"Keep  a-goin',"  admonished  Loudon.  "We  don't  like  to 
part  with  yuh  just  yet." 

The  prisoners  were  driven  to  where  a  tall  spruce  grew  be 
side  the  Paradise  Bend  trail,  three  miles  from  Farewell. 

"Yuh  can  stop  here,"  said  Loudon.  "We'll  drop  yore 
guns  an'  belts  a  couple  o'  miles  farther  on.  We're  goin'  back 
to  the  Bend,  an'  we'll  tell  the  boys  what  a  rattlin'  reception 
yuh  give  me  an'  my  friend.  If  yuh  see  Sam  Blakely,  Block, 
don't  forget  to  tell  him  I  was  a  heap  disappointed  not  to 
find  him  to-day.  So  long,  sports,  yo're  the  easiest  bunch  o' 
longhorns  I  ever  seen." 

Loudon  laughed  in  the  sheriff's  blood-caked  face,  and  set 
spurs  to  his  horse. 

"How  far  we  go,  huh?"  queried  Laguerre,  when  a  fold  in 
the  ground  concealed  the  tall  spruce. 

"About  four  mile.  There's  a  draw  runnin'  southeast. 
We'll  ride  down  that.  We'd  ought  to  be  at  the  Cross-in-a- 


198  PARADISE  BEND 

box  round  two  o'clock.  We  could  turn  off  right  after  we 
dump  this  assortment  o'  cannons.  They  won't  follow  us  to 
see  whether  I  told  'em  the  truth  or  not.  They'll  just  keep 
right  on  believin'  we're  a-headin*  for  the  Bend  hot-foot." 

"I  guess  dey  weel.  Say,  my  frien',  why  deed'n  you  geet 
dat  warran'  from  de  sher'f  un  mak  heem  eat  eet?  I  would, 
me." 

"  I  don't  want  to  let  on  I  know  anythin'  about  the  warrant. 
Block  wants  to  spring  it  nice  an'  easy.  All  right — let  him." 

Between  two  and  three  in  the  morning  they  dismounted  in 
front  of  the  Cross-in-a-box  ranch  house.  Loudon  pushed 
open  the  front  door  and  walked  in.  He  closed  the  door  and 
set  his  back  against  it. 

"Hey,  Jack!"  he  called.     "Wake  up!" 

"Who's  there?"  came  in  the  incisive  voice  of  Richie, 
accompanied  by  a  double  click. 

"It's  me — Tom  Loudon.     I  want  to  see  yuh  a  minute." 

"That's  good  hearin'.  I'll  be  right  out.  Light  the  lamp, 
will  yuh,  Tom?" 

Tousle-headed  Jack  Richie  brisked  into  the  dim  circle  of 
lamplight  and  gripped  his  friend's  hand.  He  was  unfeignedly 
glad  to  see  Loudon. 

"C'mon  where  it's  light,"  invited  Richie.  "What  yuh 
standin'  by  the  door  for?  I'll  turn  the  lamp  up." 

"No,  yuh  won't.  Don't  touch  the  lamp,  Jack.  There's 
plenty  o'  light  for  my  business.  I'm  standin'  here  'cause  I 
don't  want  nobody  to  know  I  come  here  to-night — nobody 
but  you  an'  Ramsay." 

"I  see,"  said  Richie.     "Want  a  hoss?" 

"No,  ours'll  do.  Yeah,  I've  got  a  friend  with  me.  I 
can't  bring  him  in.  Got  to  be  movin'  right  quick.  I  just 
stopped  to  know  could  I  borrow  Johnny  Ramsay  for  a  while. 
It's  on  account  o'  the  88  outfit." 

"Yuh  shore  can.  The  88,  huh?  Well,  I  wish  yuh  luck. 
When  yuh  need  any  more  help,  let  me  know." 

"Thanks,  Jack.     I  knowed  I  could  count  on  yuh." 

"  I'll  get  Johnny  right  away." 

"No,  to-morrow  '11  do.    There's  somethin*  I  want  Johnny 


A  MURDER  AND  A  KILLING  199 

to  do  first.  I'd  like  him  to  ride  over  to  the  Bar  S  an*  tell 
Chuck  Morgan  that  if  he  feels  like  makin '  a  change  there's  a 
job  waitin'  for  him  at  the  Flyin'  M.  I  hate  to  take  one  of 
his  men  away  from  Old  Salt,  but  it's  root  hog  or  die.  I 
need  another  man,  an'  Chuck'll  just  fill  the  bill." 

"Lemme  fix  it  up.  I  can  borrow  Chuck  for  yuh.  Old 
Salt'll  listen  to  me.  No,  I  won't  have  to  tell  him  nothin' 
about  yore  business.  Leave  it  to  me." 

"All  right.  That's  better'n  takin'  Chuck  away  from  him. 
Yuh  needn't  mention  no  name,  but  yuh  can  guarantee  to  Old 
Salt  that  Chuck's  wages  will  be  paid  while  he's  oil,  o '  course. 
Yuh  can  tell  Chuck  on  the  side  that  Scotty  Mackenzie  will  do 
the  pay  in'." 

"Scotty,  huh?  I  did  hear  how  he  lost  a  bunch  o'  bosses. 
How  many — two  hundred,  wasn't  it?" 

"One  hundred.     But  that's  enough." 

"Yuh  don't  suspect  the  88,  do  yuh?  Why,  the  Flyin'  M 
is  two  hundred  mile  north." 

"What's  two  hundred  mile  to  the  88?  An'  didn't  Scotty 
ride  it  just  to  find  out  whether  I  was  straight  or  a  murderer?" 

"He  shore  did,"  laughed  Richie.  "Yuh  couldn't  blame 
the  old  jigger,  though.  That  88  brand  on  yore  hoss  was  mis- 
leadin'  some." 

"That  hoss  o'  mine's  been  stole.  Yep,  lifted  right  in  the 
street  in  Paradise  Bend.  Rufe  Cutting  done  it." 

"I  don't  remember  him.  Is  he  anybody  special  besides  a 
hoss  thief?" 

"Friend  o'  Blakely's.  Block  says  Rufe's  drifted  south— 
him  an'  the  hoss.  But  Block  may  be  lyin'.  Yuh  can't  tell." 

"Did  the  sheriff  give  yuh  that  information  free  of  charge?" 

"Not  so  yuh  could  notice  it.  I  got  it  out  of  him  with  a 
quirt,  an'  I  had  to  drill  both  his  ears,  he  was  that  stubborn." 

"Drilled  both  his  ears.  Well!  Well!  Yuh'd  ought  to 
have  killed  him." 

"I  know  it.  He  went  an'  got  Shorty  Simms  to  kill  the 
Sheriff  o'  Sunset." 

"What?" 

"  Shore.     It  was  thisaway. " 


200  PARADISE  BEND 

Loudon  related  the  circumstances  of  the  sheriff's  murder. 

"An',"  he  said  in  conclusion,  "Sunset  ain't  a-goin'  to  take 
it  kindly." 

"Which  I  should  say  not!  His  friends'll  paint  for  war, 
that's  a  cinch.  This  country's  gettin'  worse  an'  worse!" 

"No,  only  the  people  are,  an'  maybe  we  can  get  some  of 
'em  to  change.  But  I  been  here  too  long  already.  We're 
ridin'  to  Marysville,  Jack,  an'  we  aim  to  stay  there  a  couple 
o*  days.  Tell  Johnny  an'  Chuck  to  meet  us  there,  an'  tell 
'em  not  to  bawl  out  my  name  when  they  see  me.  It'd  be 
just  like  the  two  of  'em  to  yell  her  out  so  yuh  could  hear  it 
over  in  the  next  county.  AJI'  I've  got  plenty  of  reasons  for 
wishin'  to  be  private." 

"Don't  worry  none.  They'll  keep  their  mouths  shut. 
I'll  fix  that  up.  I  wish  yuh  luck,  Tom.  I  shore  hope  yuh 
get  the  88  an'  get  'em  good.  I  ain't  lost  no  more  cows  lately, 
but  I  don't  like  'em  any  better  for  that." 

"I  wish  I  could  make  Old  Salt  see  the  light,"  Loudon 
grumbled. 

"I  kind  o'  think  he's  comin'  round.  I  seen  him  a  week 
ago,  an'  he  didn't  talk  real  friendly  'bout  the  88.  But  then, 
he  might  have  had  a  bellyache  at  the  time.  Old  Salt's  kind 
o'  odd.  Yuh  can't  always  tell  what  he's  thinkin'  inside." 


CHAPTER    XIX 

M ARTSVILLE 

JUDGE  ALLISON,  portly  and  forty,  sat  on  the  porch  of 
the  Sunrise  Hotel  in  Marysville.  The  judicial  hands  were 
clasped  over  the  judicial  stomach,  and  the  judicial 
mind  was  at  peace  with  all  mankind.  However,  a  six- 
shooter  in  a  shoulder-holster  nudged  the  judicial  ribs  beneath 
each  arm-pit.  For  mankind  is  peevish  and  prone  to  hold 
grudges,  and  in  order  to  secure  an  uninterrupted  term  on  the 
bench  a  judge  must  be  prepared  for  eventualities. 

Tied  to  the  hitching-rail  in  front  of  the  hotel  was  a  good- 
looking  sorrel  horse.  It  bore  the  Barred  Twin  Diamond 
brand.  Judge  Allison  had  bought  the  horse  that  very 
morning.  He  had  bought  him  from  the  keeper  of  the  dance 
hall,  Mr.  William  Archer,  who,  it  seemed,  had  five  others  for 
sale. 

Judge  Allison  was  delighted  with  his  bargain.  He  knew  a 
horse  when  he  saw  one,  and  he  felt  that  he  had  gotten  the  best 
of  Archer  in  the  deal.  True,  as  Archer  had  said,  the  sorrel 
was  a  little  footsore,  but  two  or  three  weeks  of  light  work 
would  cure  that. 

"Yes/'  mused  the  Judge,  "a  good  animal.  Sixteen  hands 
high  if  he's  an  inch,  and  I'll  bet  he  can  run  rings  round  any 
cow-pony  in  the  community.  By  Jove,  here  come  two 
unusually  fine  animals!" 

Which  last  remark  was  called  forth  by  the  approach  of  two 
big  rangy  horses,  a  bay  and  a  gray.  The  riders,  very  dusty, 
both  of  them,  were  hard-looking  characters.  A  week's 
growth  of  stubble  does  not  add  to  the  appearance  of  any  one. 
They  were  tall,  lean  men,  these  two,  and  one  of  them  was 
exceedingly  swarthy. 

They  dismounted  at  the  hitching-rail,  tossed  the  reins  over 

201 


202  PARADISE  BEND 

their  horses'  heads,  and  went  into  the  bar.  Both,  as  they 
passed,  glanced  casually  at  the  Judge's  sorrel. 

"Flying  Diamond  A,"  said  the  judge  to  himself,  eying  the 
strangers '  mounts.  "  I  don't  believe  I  ever  heard  of  that  out 
fit.  It  must  be  a  southwestern  ranch." 

Judge  Allison  had  never  heard  of  his  sorrel's  brand,  the 
Barred  Twin  Diamond,  either.  But  then  the  Judge  knew  Mr. 
William  Archer,  or  thought  he  did,  and  to  question  the  au 
thenticity  of  the  brand  had  not  entered  his  head. 

The  two  tall,  lean  riders  would  have  been  greatly  pleased 
had  they  known  of  the  ease  with  which  the  Judge  read  the 
brands  on  their  horses'  hips.  It  was  a  tribute  to  their  skill 
in  hair-branding.  Pocket-knives  in  their  hands,  they  had 
spent  hours  in  a  broiling  hot  draw  altering  the  Flying  M  to 
the  Flying  Diamond  A. 

On  paper  it  is  ridiculously  simple.  Merely  prolong  up 
ward,  till  they  meet,  the  outer  arms  of  the  Flying  M,  and  there 
you  have  it,  a  perfectly  good  Flying  Diamond  A.  But  it  is 
quite  another  story  when  one's  paper  is  the  hide  of  a  nervous 
horse  which  frantically  objects  to  having  its  hair  pinched 
out. 

The  strangers  happened  to  be  sitting  on  the  porch  when  the 
Judge  rode  homeward  on  his  sore-footed  purchase.  They 
noted  how  tenderly  the  Barred  Twin  Diamond  sorrel  walked, 
and  promptly  retired  to  the  bar  and  made  a  fast  friend  of  the 
bartender. 

That  afternoon  the  younger  of  the  two  hard-looking  char 
acters,  the  gray-eyed  man,  became  exceedingly  intoxicated 
and  quarrelled  with  his  swarthy  friend  who  remained  quite 
sober.  The  friend  endeavoured  to  get  him  to  bed — they  had 
taken  a  room  at  the  hotel — but  the  drunken  one  ran  away. 
For  a  gentleman  overcome  by  drink  he  ran  remarkably  well. 

He  was  discovered  an  hour  later  in  Mr.  Archer's  corral, 
making  hysterical  endeavours  to  climb  the  fence,  and  bawling 
that  he  was  being  detained  against  his  will  and  would 
presently  make  a  sieve  of  the  individual  who  had  hidden  the 
gate.  To  which  end  he  flourished  a  six-shooter. 

Mr.  Archer  opened  the  gate  and  invited  the  tippler  to  come 


MARYSVILLE  203 

out.  But  this  he  refused  to  do,  and  offered  to  fight  Mr. 
Archer  rough-and-tumble  or  with  knives  on  a  blanket. 

Mr.  Archer,  with  an  eye  to  future  patronage,  did  not  send 
for  the  marshal.  He  sent  for  the  man's  friend.  When  the 
swarthy  one  appeared,  the  other  immediately  sheathed  his 
six-shooter,  burst  into  maudlin  tears,  and  fell  on  his  neck. 
Weeping  bitterly,  he  was  led  away  to  the  hotel  and  to  bed. 

"I've  seen  drunks,"  observed  a  plump  dance-hall  girl, 
"but  I  never  seen  one  as  full  as  he  is  that  could  walk  so  good. 
His  licker  only  seems  to  hit  him  from  the  belt  up." 

"Oh,  there's  drunks  an'  drunks,"  sagely  replied  Mr. 
Archer.  "When  yo're  as  old  as  I  am,  Clarice,  yuh  won't 
wonder  at  nothin'  a  drunk  does." 

When  the  two  strangers  were  in  their  room  with  the  door 
shut  the  younger  one  lay  down  on  his  cot  and  stuffed  the  end 
of  a  blanket  into  his  mouth.  His  whole  big  frame  shook  with 
uproarious  mirth.  He  kicked  the  cot  with  his  boot-toes  and 
bounced  up  and  down.  His  friend  laughed  silently. 

"Telescope,"  whispered  the  man  on  the  bed,  when  he  could 
open  his  mouth  without  yelling,  "Telescope,  I  got  it  all. 
They 's  five  bosses  in  that  corral  o '  Archer's,  all  of  'em  sore- 
footed  an'  all  branded  Barred  Twin  Diamond.  It's  done 
mighty  slick,  too.  Yuh  can't  hardly  tell  it  ain't  the  real 
thing.  An'  one  of  'em,  a  black  with  two  white  stockings, 
I  can  swear  to  like  I  can  to  that  sorrel  the  bartender  said  the 
Judge  bought.  I've  rode  'em  both." 

"Sleeck  work,"  breathed  Laguerre.  "I  kin  sw'ar  to  dat 
sorrel,  too.  I  know  heem,  me.  He  ees  six  year  old,  un  dat 
red  one  I  see  een  de  corral,  I  know  heem.  I  bust  heem  a 
t'ree-year  old.  He  ees  five  now.  But  de  odders  I  not  so 
shore." 

"It  don't  matter.  They're  all  Scotty's  horses.  That's  a 
cinch." 

"I  won'er  eef  de  rest  back  een  de  heel.     W'at  you  t'ink?" 

"No,  they  ain't.  Why,  look  here,  Telescope,  them  six 
sorefoots  tell  the  story.  If  the  rustlers  was  holdin'  the  band 
in  the  hills  they'd  'a'  kept  the  six.  But  they  didn't.  They 
turned  'em  over  to  Archer.  That  shows  they  was  drivin' 


204  PARADISE  BEND 

'em,  an*  drivin'  'em  some'ers  near  here.  Well,  the  railroad 
ain't  more'n  fifty  mile  south.  Farewell's  about  sixty  mile 
north.  If  them  rustlers  got  the  band  this  far  their  best 
move  would  be  to  keep  right  on  to  the  railroad  an'  ship  the 
hosses  east  or  west.  An'  I'll  gamble  that's  what  they've 
done." 

Loudon  gazed  triumphantly  at  Laguerre.  The  latter 
nodded. 

"You  are  right,  you  bet,"  he  said,  his  eyes  beginning  to 
glitter.  "I  hope  dem  two  odder  boys  geet  a  move  on." 

"They  ought  to  pull  in  to-morrow.  To-night,  when  I'm 
all  sober  again,  we'll  go  down  to  the  dance  hall  an'  find  out  if 
Archer's  made  any  little  out-o'-town  trips  lately.  Telescope, 
I'm  shore  enjoyin'  this.  To-morrow  I'm  goin'  to  make  the 
acquaintance  o'  the  Judge  an'  see  what  he  thinks  o'  this 
rustler  Loudon  who  goes  spreadin'  the  Crossed  Dumbbell 
brand  up  an'  down  the  land.  Yes,  sir,  I  got  to  shake  hands 
with  Judge  Allison." 

Again  mirth  overcame  him,  and  he  had  recourse  to  the 
blanket. 

"I  wouldn'  go  see  dat  Judge,"  advised  Laguerre,  with  a 
dubious  shake  of  the  head.  "She  may  not  be  de  damfool. 
She  might  have  you'  face  describe',  huh.  She  might  see 
onder  de  w'iskair.  You  leave  heem  'lone,  my  frien'." 

But  Loudon  remained  firm  in  his  resolve. 

Mr.  Archer  was  a  good  business  man.  His  two  fiddlers 
were  excellent,  and  his  girls  were  prettier  than  the  average 
cow-town  dance-hall  women.  Consequently,  Mr.  Archer's 
place  was  popular.  When  Loudon  and  Laguerre  entered, 
four  full  sets  were  thumping  through  a  polka  on  the  dancing 
floor,  and  in  the  back  room  two  gamblers  sat  behind  their 
boxes,  players  two  deep  bordering  the  tables. 

After  a  drink  at  the  bar  the  two  watched  the  faro  games 
awhile.  Then  Laguerre  captured  a  good-looking  brunette 
and  whirled  with  her  into  a  wild  waltz.  Loudon  singled  out  a 
plump  little  blonde  in  a  short  red  skirt  and  a  shockingly  in 
adequate  waist  and  invited  her  to  drink  with  him. 

"I  seen  yuh  this  mornin',"  she  confided,  planting  both 


MARYSVILLE  205 

elbows  on  the  table.  "Yuh  shore  was  packin'  a  awful  load. 
I  wondered  how  yuh  walked  at  all." 

"Oh,  I  can  always  walk,"  said  Loudon,  modestly.  "Liquor 
never  does  affect  my  legs  none — only  my  head  an'  my  arms." 

"Different  here,  dearie.  When  I'm  full  it  hits  me  all  over. 
I  just  go  blah.  Yuh  got  to  carry  me.  I  can't  walk  nohow. 
But  I  don't  tank  up  much.  Bill  Archer  don't  like  it.  Say, 
honey,  what  djuh  say  to  a  dance?  Don't  yuh  feel  like  a 
waltz  or  somethin'?" 

"I'd  rather  sit  here  an'  talk  to  yuh.  Besides,  my  ankle's 
strained  some.  Dancin'  won't  do  it  no  good." 

"That's  right.  Well,  buy  me  another  drink  then.  I  want 
to  get  forty  checks  to-night  if  I  can." 

"Help  yoreself.     The  bridle's  off  to  you,  Mary  Jane." 

"Call  me  Clarice.  That's  my  name.  Ain't  it  got  a  real 
refined  sound?  I  got  it  out  of  a  book.  The  hero  wine  was 
called  that.  She  drowned  herself.  Gee,  I  cried  over  that 
book!  Read  it  six  times,  too.  Here's  luck,  stranger." 

"An'  lots  of  it,  Ethel.     Have  another." 

"Just  for  that  yuh  don't  have  to  call  me  Clarice.  Yuh 
can  call  me  anythin'  yuh  like  'cept  Maggie.  A  floozie  named 
that  stole  ninety-five  dollars  an'  four  bits  an'  a  gold  watch 
offen  me  once.  I  ain't  liked  the  name  since.  Well,  drown 
sorrow." 

"An'  drown  her  deep.  Say,  I  kind  o'  like  this  town.  It 
suits  me  down  to  the  ground.  How's  the  cattle  'round 
here?" 

"Nothin'  to  brag  of.  They's  only  a  few  little  ranches. 
They 's  gold  in  the  Dry  Mountains  over  east  a  ways.  Placers, 
the  claims  are.  Bill  Archer's  got  a  claim  some'ers  west  in  the 
foot-hills  o'  the  Fry  in'  Pans.  He  works  it  quite  a  lot,  but 
he  ain't  never  had  no  luck  with  it  yet.  Leastwise,  he  says  he 
ain't." 

"Has  he  been  out  to  it  lately?"  asked  Loudon,  carelessly. 

The  girl  did  not  immediately  reply.  She  stared  fixedly 
into  his  eyes. 

"Stranger,"  she  said,  her  voice  low  and  hard,  "stranger, 
what  do  yuh  want  to  know  for?" 


206  PARADISE  BEND 

"Oh,  I  was  just  a-wonderin*.  Not  that  I  really  want  to 
know.  I  was  just  talkin'." 

"  Yuh  seem  to  enjoy  talkin'  quite  a  lot." 

"I  do.    Habit  I  got." 

"Well,  what  do  yuh  want  to  know  about  Bill  Archer  for?" 

"I  don't.  Say,  can't  I  make  a  natural  remark  without 
yore  jumpin'  sideways?" 

"Remarks  is  all  right.  It's  yore  questions  ain't.  Stranger, 
for  a  feller  who's  just  makin'  talk  yore  eyes  are  a  heap  too 
interested.  I  been  in  this  business  too  long  a  time  not  to  be 
able  to  read  a  gent's  eyes.  Yo're  a-huntin'  for  somethin', 
you  are." 

"I'm  a-huntin'  a  job — that's  all.  What  do  yuh  take  me 
for,  anyway?" 

"  I  dunno  how  to  take  yuh.     I " 

"Oh,  have  another  drink  an'  forget  it." 

"Shore  I'll  have  another  drink,  but  I  dunno  as  I Oh, 

well,  yo're  all  right,  o'  course.  I'm  gettin'  foolish,  I  guess." 

Her  words  did  not  carry  conviction,  and  certainly  she  did 
not  cease  to  watch  London  with  furtive  keenness.  He  strove 
by  means  of  many  drinks  and  a  steady  flow  of  conversation  to 
dispel  her  suspicions.  The  girl  played  up  to  perfection,  yet, 
when  he  bade  her  good-night,  it  was  with  the  assured  belief 
that  she  and  Archer  would  have  a  little  talk  within  five 
minutes. 

The  bar  was  nearly  empty  when  London  and  Laguerre 
entered  the  hotel.  Two  drunken  punchers  were  sleeping  on 
the  floor,  a  mongrel  under  a  table  was  vigorously  hunting  for 
fleas,  and  the  bartender  was  languidly  arranging  bottles  on 
the  shelves.  London  ordered  drinks  and  treated  the  bar 
tender. 

"Any  chance  o'  pickin'  up  a  stake  in  the  Dry  Mountains? " 
hazarded  Loudon. 

"How?"  queried  the  bartender. 

"Placer  minin'." 

"Well,  gents,  if  yuh  don't  care  how  hard  yuh  work  for  five 
dollars  a  day,  the  Dry  Mountains  is  the  place.  I  never  had 
no  use  for  a  long-tailed  shovel  myself." 


MARYSVILLE  207 

"I  heard  how  them  stream-beds  was  rich." 

"Don't  yuh  believe  it,  gents.  If  they  was,  there  wouldn't 
be  no  Marysville  'round  here.  It'd  be  all  over  in  the  Dry 
Mountains.  No,  gents,  it's  like  I  says.  Yuh  can  get  the 
colour  all  right  enough,  but  yuh  won't  make  more'n  five  a  day 
on  an  average.  Who  wants  to  rock  a  cradle  for  that?" 

"Now  ain't  that  a  fright?"  complained  Loudon. 
"  Chucked  up  our  jobs  with  the  Flyin '  Diamond  A  'cause  we 
heard  how  there  was  gold  in  the  Dry  Mountains,  an'  come 
all  the  way  up  here  for  nothin'.  It  shore  does  beat  the 
devil!" 

"It  does,  stranger,  it  does.  Have  one  on  the  house,, 
gents." 

"Say,"  said  Loudon,  when  the  liquor  was  poured,  "say, 
how  about  east  in  the  foothills  o'  the  Fry  in'  Pans?  Any 
gold  there?" 

"  Stranger,  them  Fryin'  Pans  has  been  prospected  from  hell 
to  breakfast  an'  they  ain't  showed  the  colour  yet.  Take  my 
word  for  it,  gents,  an'  leave  the  Fryin'  Pans  alone.  Bill 
Archer's  got  a  claim  some'ers  over  that  way  an'  he  goes 
traipsin'  out  to  it  every  so  often.  Stays  quite  a  while,  Bill 
does,  sometimes.  Don't  know  why.  He  don't  never  get 
nothin'." 

"How  do  yuh  know?" 

"Stranger,  I  know  them  hills.  I've  prospected  that 
country  myself.  There's  no  gold  in  it." 

"Maybe  Bill  Archer  don't  agree  with  yuh." 

"Likely  he  don't.  He's  a  hopeful  cuss  as  ever  was. 
Why,  gents,  only  about  ten  days  ago  he  got  back  from  a  two 
weeks'  trip  to  his  claim.  A  month  ago  he  was  gone  maybe  a 
week.  An'  it  goes  on  like  that.  Why,  I'll  bet  Bill  Archer 
spends  mighty  nigh  four  months  in  every  year  out  on  his 
claim.  There's  perseverance  for  yuh,  if  nothin'  else." 

The  two  friends  agreed  that  it  was  indeed  perseverance  and 
retired  to  their  room. 

"We've  got  Archer  pretty  nigh  hog-tied,"  murmured 
Loudon  as  he  pulled  off  his  trousers. 

"You  bet,"  whispered  Laguerre.     "Archer  she  ees  w'at 


208  PARADISE  BEND 

you  call  de  fence,  huh?  De  odder  feller  dey  run  off  de  pony 
un  de  cow,  un  Archer  she  sell  dem.  Eet  ees  plain,  yes." 

"Plain!     I  guess  so.     It'll  be  a  cinch.'* 

It  might  appear  cinch-like,  but  there  were  more  dips  and 
twists  in  the  trail  ahead  than  Loudon  and  Laguerre  dreamed 
of. 

In  the  morning  Loudon  strolled  down  the  street  and  entered 
the  dance  hall.  Mr.  Archer  was  behind  the  bar,  and  he 
greeted  Loudon  with  grave  politeness. 

There  was  nothing  in  Archer's  manner  to  indicate  that 
Clarice  had  talked.  In  perfect  amity  the  two  men  drank 
together,  and  Loudon  took  his  departure.  His  visit  to  the 
dance  hall  had  one  result.  The  depth  of  Mr.  Archer's 
character  had  been  indicated,  if  not  revealed.  Loudon  had 
hoped  that  he  was  a  hasty  person,  one  given  to  exploding  at 
half-cock.  Such  an  individual  is  less  difficult  to  contend  with 
than  one  that  bides  his  time. 

Loudon,  not  wholly  easy  in  his  mind,  went  in  search  of 
Judge  Allison.  He  found  him  in  the  Sweet  Dreams  Saloon 
telling  a  funny  story  to  the  bartender.  The  Judge  was  an 
approachable  person.  Loudon  had  no  difficulty  in  scraping 
an  acquaintance  with  him.  Half-an-hour's  conversation 
disclosed  the  fact  that  the  Judge's  hobby  was  the  horse. 
Loudon  talked  horse  and  its  diseases  till  he  felt  that  his 
brain  was  in  danger  of  developing  a  spavin. 

Judge  Allison  warmed  to  the  young  man.  Here  was  a 
fellow  that  knew  horses.  By  Jove,  yes!  Reluctantly  the 
Judge  admitted  to  himself  that  London's  knowledge  of 
breeding  secrets  far  exceeded  his  own.  In  a  land  where 
horses  are  usually  bred  haphazard  such  an  individual  is  rare. 

The  Judge  took  Loudon  home  with  him  in  order  to  pursue 
his  favourite  subject  to  its  lair.  Which  lair  was  the  Judge's 
office,  where,  cheek  by  jowl  with  "Coke  upon  Littleton"  and 
Blackstone's  ponderous  volumes,  were  books  on  the  horse — 
war,  work,  and  race. 

"It's  astonishing,  sir,"  pronounced  the  Judge,  when  his 
negro  had  brought  in  a  sweating  jug  of  what  the  Judge  called 
cocktails,  "truly  astonishing  what  vile  poison  is  served  across 


MARYSVILLE  209 

our  bars.  And  I  say  'vile'  with  feeling.  Why,  until  I 
imported  my  own  brands  from  the  East  my  stomach  was 
perpetually  out  of  order.  I  very  nearly  died.  Have 
another?  No?  Later,  then.  Well,  sir,  my  name  is  Allison, 
Henry  B.  Allison,  Judge  of  this  district.  What  may  I  call 
you,  sir?" 

"Franklin,  Judge,  Ben  Franklin,"  replied  Loudon,  giving 
the  name  he  had  given  the  landlord  of  the  hotel. 

"Any  relation  of  Poor  Richard?"  twinkled  the  Judge. 

"Who  was  he?"  queried  Loudon,  blankly. 

"A  great  man,  a  very  great  man.     He's  dead  at  present." 

"He  would  be.  Fellah  never  is  appreciated  till  he  shuffles 
off." 

"We  live  in  an  unappreciative  world,  Mr.  Franklin.  I 
know.  I  ought  to.  A  judge  is  never  appreciated,  that  is, 
not  pleasantly.  Why,  last  year  I  sentenced  Tom  Durry 
for  beating  his  wife,  and  Mrs.  Tom  endeavoured  to  shoot 
me  the  day  after  Tom  was  sent  away.  The  mental 
processes  of  a  woman  are  incomprehensible.  Have  another 
cocktail?" 

"No  more,  thanks,  Judge.  I've  had  a-plenty.  Them 
cocktail  jiggers  ain't  strong  or  nothin'.  Oh,  no!  Two  or 
three  more  of  'em  an'  I'd  go  right  out  an'  push  the  house  over. 
I'm  feelin'  fine  now.  Don't  want  to  feel  a  bit  better.  Ever 
go  huntin',  Judge?" 

" No,  I  don't.     I  used  to.     Why? " 

"I  was  just  a-wonderin'.  Yuh  see,  me  an'  my  friend  are 
thinkin'  o'  prospectin'  the  Fryin'  Pans,  an'  we  was  a-won- 
Herin'  how  the  game  was.  Don't  want  to  pack  much  grub 
if  we  can  help  it." 

"The  Frying  Pans!  Why,  Bill  Archer  has  a  claim  there. 
Never  gets  anything  out  of  it,  though.  Works  it  hard 
enough,  too,  or  he  used  to  at  any  rate.  Odd.  About  three 
weeks  ago  he  told  me  he  was  riding  out  to  give  it  another 
whirl.  Last  week,  Tuesday,  to  be  exact,  I  was  riding  about 
twenty  miles  south  of  here  and  I  met  Bill  Archer  riding  north . 
He  seemed  quite  surprised  to  meet  me.  I  guess  he  doesn't 
work  that  claim  as  much  as  he  says." 


210  PARADISE  BEND 

"That's  the  way  we  come  north — through  that  country 
east  of  the  Blossom  trail." 

"Oh,  I  was  west  of  the  Blossom  trail — fully  ten  miles  west. 
What?  Going  already?  Why,  I  haven't  had  time  to  ask 
you  about  that  extraordinary  case  of  ringbone  you  ran  across 
in  Texas.  Wait.  I'll  get  a  book.  I  want  to  showfyou 
something." 

It  was  fully  an  hour  before  London  could  tear  himself 
away  from  Judge  Allison.  As  he  crossed  the  street,  a  buck- 
board  drawn  by  two  sweating,  dust-caked  ponies  rattled 
past  him  and  stopped  in  front  of  the  Judge's  office.  The 
driver  was  a  woman  swathed  in  a  shapeless  duster,  her  face 
hidden  by  a  heavy  veil,  and  a  wide-brimmed  Stetson  tied 
sunbonnet-fashion  over  her  ears.  At  first  glance  she  was  not 
attractive,  and  Loudon,  absorbed  in  his  own  affairs,  did  not 
look  twice. 

"Find  out  any  thin'?"  inquired  Laguerre,  when  Loudon 
met  him  at  the  hotel  corral. 

"  I  found  out  that  when  Archer  came  back  from  that  claim 
in  the  Fryin'  Pans  he  come  from  the  direction  o'  the  railroad. 
The  Judge  met  him  twenty  mile  south  an'  ten  mile  west  o* 
the  trail  to  Blossom.  Blossom  is  almost  due  south  o'  here. 
The  next  station  west  is  Damson.  We'll  go  to  Damson  first. 
C'mon  an'  eat." 

The  long  table  in  the  dining  room  was  almost  deserted. 
At  one  end  sat  Archer  and  a  lanky  person  in  chaps.  Loudon 
caught  the  lanky  gentleman  casting  sidelong  glances  in  his 
direction.  Archer  did  not  look  up  from  his  plate.  It  was  the 
first  meal  at  which  they  had  met  either  the  dance-hall  keeper 
or  his  tall  friend. 

"I  wonder,"  mused  Loudon.     "I  wonder." 

After  dinner  Loudon  inquired  of  the  bartender  whether  it 
was  Archer's  custom  to  eat  at  the  hotel. 

"First  time  he  ever  ate  here  to  my  knowledge,"  said  the 
bartender.  "He's  got  a  home  an'  a  Injun  woman  to  cook." 

"It's  the  little  tumble-weeds  show  how  the  wind  blows," 
thought  Loudon  to  himself,  and  sat  down  in  a  corner  of  the 
barroom  and  pondered  deeply. 


MARYSVILLE  211 

A  few  minutes  later  he  removed  his  cartridge-belt,  hung  it 
on  the  back  of  his  chair,  and  composed  himself  ostensibly  to 
doze.  His  three-quarter  shut  eyes,  however,  missed  nothing 
that  went  on  in  the  barroom. 

Archer  and  his  lanky  friend  entered  and  draped  themselves 
over  the  bar.  Loudon,  after  a  brief  space  of  time,  arose, 
stretched,  and  yawningly  stumbled  upstairs.  He  lay  down 
on  his  cot  and  smoked  one  cigarette  after  another,  his  eyes  on 
the  ceiling. 

Laguerre  wandered  in,  and  Loudon  uttered  cogent  sen 
tences  in  a  whisper.  Laguerre  grinned  delightedly.  His 
perverted  sense  of  humour  was  aroused.  Loudon  did  not 
smile.  What  he  believed  to  be  impending  gave  him  no 
pleasure. 

"Guess  I'll  go  down,"  announced  Loudon,  when  an  hour 
had  elapsed.  "No  sense  in  delayin'  too  long.'* 

"No,"  said  Laguerre,  "no  sense  een  dat." 

He  followed  his  friend  downstairs. 

"  Seems  to  me  I  took  it  off  in  here,"  Loudon  flung  back  over 
his  shoulder,  as  though  in  response  to  a  question.  "Shore, 
there  it  is." 

He  walked  across  the  barroom  to  where  his  cartridge-belt 
and  six-shooter  hung  on  the  back  of  a  chair.  He  buckled  on 
the  belt,  Archer  and  his  lanky  friend  watching  him  the  while. 

"How  about  a  little  game,  gents?"  suggested  Archer. 

In  a  flash  Loudon  saw  again  the  barroom  of  the  Happy 
Heart  and  the  Sheriff  of  Sunset  County  surrounded  by  Block's 
friends.  The  wolf -faced  man  had  employed  almost  those 
very  words.  Loudon  smiled  cheerfully. 

"Why,  shore,"  he  said,  "I'm  with  yuh.  I  left  my  coin 
upstairs.  I'll  be  right  down." 

He  hurried  up  to  his  room,  closed  the  door,  and  set  his  back 
against  it.  Drawing  his  six-shooter  he  flipped  out  the 
cylinder.  No  circle  of  brass  heads  and  copper  primers  met 
his  eye.  His  weapon  had  been  unloaded. 

"Fell  plumb  into  it,"  he  muttered  without  exultation. 
"The murderers!" 

He  tried  the  action.    Nothing  wrong  there.     Only  the 


212  PARADISE  BEND 

cartridges  had  been  juggled.  He  reloaded  hastily  from  a 
fresh  box  of  cartridges.  He  would  not  trust  those  in  his  belt. 
Heaven  only  knew  how  far  ahead  the  gentleman  who  tam 
pered  with  his  gun  had  looked. 

When  Loudon  returned  to  the  barroom,  Laguerre  and  the 
other  two  men  were  sitting  at  a  battered  little  table.  The 
vacant  chair  was  opposite  Archer's  lanky  friend,  and  the  man 
sitting  in  that  chair  would  have  his  back  to  the  door. 

"I  don't  like  to  sit  with  my  back  to  the  door/'  stated 
Loudon. 

"Some  don't,"  said  the  lanky  man,  shuffling  the  cards. 

"Meanin'?"  Loudon  cocked  an  inquisitive  eyebrow. 

"Oh,  nothin'." 

"Shore?" 

"Positive,  stranger,  positive." 

"That's  good.     Change  seats,  will  yuh? " 

The  lanky  citizen  hesitated.  Loudon  remained  standing, 
his  gray  eyes  cold  and  hard.  Then  slowly  the  other  man 
arose,  circled  the  table,  and  sat  down.  Loudon  slid  into  the 
vacated  chair. 

The  lanky  man  dealt.  Loudon  watched  the  deft  fingers — 
fingers  too  deft  for  the  excessively  crude  exhibition  of  cheat 
ing  that  occurred  almost  instantly.  To  Archer  the  dealer 
dealt  from  the  bottom  of  the  pack,  and  did  it  clumsily. 
Hardly  the  veriest  tyro  would  have  so  openly  bungled  the  per 
formance.  For  all  that,  however,  it  was  done  so  that  Loudon, 
and  not  Laguerre,  saw  the  action. 

"Where  I  come  from,"  observed  Loudon, softly,  "we  don't 
deal  from  the  bottom  of  the  pack." 

"Do  you  say  I'm  a-dealin'  from  the  bottom  of  the  pack?" 
loudly  demanded  the  lanky  man. 

"Just  that,"  replied  Loudon,  his  thumbs  hooked  in  the 
armholes  of  his  vest. 

"Yo're  a  liar!"  roared  the  lanky  one,  and  reached  for  his 
gun. 

Archer  fell  over  backwards.  Laguerre  thrust  his  chair 
to  one  side  and  leaped  the  other  way. 

No  one  saw  London's  arm  move.     Yet,  when  the  lanky 


MARYSVILLE  213 

man's  fingers  closed  on  the  butt  of  his  gun,  London's  six- 
shooter  was  in  his  hand. 

The  lanky  man's  six-shooter  was  half  drawn  when  London's 
gun  spat  flame  and  smoke.  The  lanky 's  one's  fingers  slipped 
their  grip,  and  his  arm  jerked  backward.  Lips  writhing 
with  pain,  for  his  right  elbow  was  smashed  to  bits,  the  lanky 
man  thrust  his  left  hand  under  his  vest. 

"Don't,"  cautioned  Loudon. 

The  lanky  man's  hand  came  slowly  away — empty.  White 
as  chalk,  his  left  hand  clenched  round  the  biceps  of  his 
wounded  arm,  the  lanky  man  swayed  to  his  feet  and  stag 
gered  into  the  street. 

Archer  arose  awkwardly.  His  expression  was  so  utterly 
nonplussed  that  it  would  have  been  laughable  had  not  the 
situation  been  so  tragic.  A  thread  of  gray  smoke  spiraled 
upward  from  the  muzzle  of  London's  slanting  six-shooter. 
Laguerre,  balanced  on  his  toes,  watched  the  doorway. 

Loudon  stared  at  Archer.  The  latter  moved  from  behind 
the  table  and  halted.  He  removed  his  hat  and  scratched  his 
head,  his  eyes  on  the  trail  of  red  blots  leading  to  the  door. 

" !"   exclaimed   Archer,  suddenly,  raising   his   head. 

"This  here  kind  o'  puts  a  crimp  in  our  game,  don't  it?" 

"That  depends  on  how  bad  yuh  want  to  play,"  retorted 
Loudon.  "I'm  ready — I'm  always  ready  to  learn  new 
tricks." 

"I  don't  just  feel  like  poker  now,"  hedged  Archer,  ignoring 
the  insult.  "I  reckon  I'll  see  yuh  later  maybe." 

"Don't  strain  yoreself  reckonin',"  advised  Loudon. 

"I  won't.     So  long,  gents." 

With  an  airy  wave  of  his  head  Bill  Archer  left  the  barroom. 

Inch  by  inch  the  head  of  the  bartender  uprose  from  behind 
the  breastwork  of  the  bar.  The  barrel  of  a  sawed-off 
shotgun  rose  with  the  head.  When  Loudon  holstered  his 
six-shooter  the  bartender  replaced  the  sawed-off  shotgun  on 
the  hooks  behind  the  bar. 

"Well,  sir,  gents,"  remarked  the  bartender  with  an  audible 
sigh  of  relief,  "  which  I'm  never  so  glad  in  my  life  when  Skinny 
Maxson  don't  pull  that  derringer.  She's  a  .41  that  derringer 


214  PARADISE  BEND 

is,  the  bar's  right  in  the  line  o'  fire — it  ain't  none  too  thick — 
an '  Skinny  always  shoots  wide  with  a  derringer.  Gents,  the 
drinks  are  on  the  house.  What '11  yuh  have?" 

"Yo're  a  Christian,"  grinned  Loudon.  "Is  Skinny 
Maxson  any  thin'  special  'round  here?" 

"He's  a  friend  o'  Bill  Archer's,"  replied  the  bartender, 
"an'  he's  got — I  mean  he  had  a  reputation.  I  knowed  he 
was  lightning  on  the  draw  till  I  seen  you — I  mean  till  I  didn't 
see  yuh  pull  yore  gun.  Mr.  Franklin,  that  was  shore  the  best 
exhibition  o'  quick  drawin'  I  ever  seen,  an'  I  used  to  work  in 
Dodge  City.  Good  thing  yuh  was  some  swift.  Skinny 
don't  shoot  a  six-gun  like  he  does  a  derringer.  No,  not  for  a 
minute  he  don't!  But  look  out  for  Skinny 's  brother  Luke. 
He's  got  a  worse  temper'n  Skinny,  an'  he's  a  better  shot. 
This  nickin'  o '  Skinny  is  a  heap  likely  to  make  him  paint  for 
war.  He's  out  o'  town  just  now." 

A  clatter  of  running  feet  was  heard  in  the  street.  Through 
the  doorway  bounded  a  stocky  citizen,  blood  in  his  eye,  and  a 
shotgun  in  his  hand. 

"Where's  the shot  Skinny!"  he  howled. 

"Luke!"  cried  the  bartender,  and  dived  beneath  the  bar. 

"Stranger,  I  wouldn't  do  nothin'  rash,"  observed  Loudon, 
squinting  along  the  barrel  of  his  six-shooter.  "Drop  that 
shotgun,  an'  drop  her  quick." 

London's  tone  was  soft,  but  its  menace  was  not  lost  on  the 
wild-eyed  man.  His  shotgun  thudded  on  the  floor. 

"  By  Gar ! "  exclaimed  Laguerre.     "  Eet  ees " 

"Shut  up!"  roared  Loudon.  "I'm  seein'  just  what  yo're 
seein',  but  there's  no  call  to  blat  it  out!" 

For  the  wild-eyed  man  was  the  same  individual  who  had 
brought  the  tale  of  the  Hatchet  Creek  Indian  uprising  to 
Farewell.  But  there  was  no  recognition  in  the  man's  eyes, 
which  was  not  remarkable.  Loudon  and  Laguerre,  on  that 
occasion,  had  been  but  units  in  a  crowd,  and  even  when 
they  exchanged  shots  with  the  fellow  the  range  was  too  long 
for  features  to  be  noted.  Besides,  the  thick  growth  of 
stubble  on  their  faces  effectually  concealed  their  identity 
from  any  one  who  did  not  know  them  well. 


MARYSVILLE  215 

"I'd  kind  o'  elevate  my  hands,  Brother  Luke,"  suggested 
Loudon.  "That's  right.  Yuh  look  more  ornamental  that- 
away.  An*  don't  shake  so  much.  You  ain't  half  as 
mad  as  yo're  tryin'  to  make  out.  If  you  was  real  hot 
you'd  'a'  took  a  chance  an'  unhooked  that  shotgun  when 
yuh  come  in.  Brother  Luke,  yo're  a  false  alarm — like 
Skinny." 

"Lemme  pick  up  my  shotgun,  an'  I'll  show  yuh!"  clam 
oured  Luke  Maxson,  whom  the  purring  voice  was  driving  to  a 
frenzy. 

"Yuh  lost  yore  best  chance,  an'  chances  don't  travel  in 
pairs — like  brothers." 

"  Do  somethin ' !    Do  somethin ' ! "  chattered  Luke. 

"No  hurry.  Don't  get  het,  Brother  Luke.  If  I  was  to  do 
somethin'  yore  valuable  an'  good-lookin'  carcass  would  be 
damaged.  An'  I  just  ain't  got  the  heart  to  shoot  more  than 
one  man  a  day." 

Laguerre  laughed  outright.  From  behind  the  bar  came  the 
sound  of  a  snicker  hastily  stifled. 

"You  let  me  go,"  yapped  Luke  Maxson,  "an*  I'll  down 
yuh  first  chance  I  git!" 

"Good  argument  against  lettin'  yuh  go." 

At  the  window  flanking  the  door  appeared  the  plump  face 
and  shoulders  of  Judge  Allison. 

"Why  don't  yuh  do  somethin',  yuh?"  yelled  Luke 

Maxson.     "I'm  gettin'  tired  holdin'  my  arms  up!" 

"Well,"  said  Loudon,  "as  I  told  yuh  before,  though  yuh 
can't  seem  to  get  it  through  yore  thick  head,  it's  a  mighty 
boggy  ford.  I  feel  just  like  the  fellah  swingin '  on  the  wild 
cat's  tail.  I  want  to  let  go,  but  I  can't.  If  I  was  shore  none 
o'  yore  measly  friends  would  shoot  me  in  the  back,  I'd  let 
yuh  go  get  yore  Winchester  an'  shoot  it  out  with  me  in  the 
street  at  a  hundred  yards.  But  the  chance  o'  yore  friends 
bustin'  in  shore  dazzles  me." 

"None  of  'em  won't  move  a  finger!"  Luke  hastened  to 
assure  Loudon. 

The  latter  looked  doubtful.  The  Judge  coughed  gently 
and  rubbed  his  clean-shaven  chin. 


216  PARADISE  BEND 

"Mr.  Franklin,"  said  Judge  Allison,  "should  you  care  to 
try  conclusions  with  Mr.  Maxson  in  the  street,  pray  accept 
my  assurances  that  no  one  will  interfere.  I  speak  un 
officially,  of  course.  Furthermore,  in  a  wholly  unofficial 
capacity  I  shall  oversee  proceedings  from  the  sidewalk.  If 

any  one  should  be  so  ill-advised  as  to But  no  one  will, 

no  one  will." 

"You  hear  what  the  Judge  says?"  Loudon  cocked  an  eye 
brow  at  Luke  Maxson. 

"Shore,  shore,"  said  that  worthy,  feverishly.  "Lemme 
pick  up  my  shotgun,  an'  in  five  minutes  I'll  be  back  in  the 
middle  o'  Main  Street  a-waitin'  for  yuh." 

"Five  minutes  is  too  long,"  observed  Loudon.  "Make  it 
three.  An'  yuh  needn't  touch  that  shotgun.  Yuh  can  get  it 
later— if  yo're  able." 

"Yo're  shore  in  a  hurry!"  sneered  Luke. 

"I  always  am  with  a  coward  an'  a  liar  an*  a  low-down, 
baby-robbin '  road-agent." 

At  these  words  rage  almost  overwhelmed  Luke  Maxson. 
Only  the  long  barrel  of  that  steady  six-shooter  aimed  at  his 
abdomen  prevented  him  from  hurling  himself  barehanded 
upon  his  tormentor. 

"One  moment,  gentlemen!"  exclaimed  the  Judge.  "In 
the  interest  of  fair  play  permit  me  to  settle  one  or  two 
necessary  preliminaries.  The  street  runs  approximately 
north  and  south  so  the  sun  will  not  favour  either  of  you. 
Mr.  Maxson  will  take  his  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  street 
opposite  the  dance  hall.  Mr.  Franklin  will  also  post  himself 
in  the  middle  of  the  street  but  opposite  the  hotel.  The  hotel 
and  dance  hall  are  about  a  hundred  yards  apart.  I  shall 
be  on  the  sidewalk  midway  between  the  two  places.  At  a 
shot  from  my  revolver  you  gentlemen  will  commence  firing. 
And  may  God  have  mercy  on  your  souls.  Gentlemen,  the 
three  minutes  start  immediately." 

"Git,"  ordered  Loudon. 

Luke  Maxson  fled.  The  Judge  vanished  from  the  window. 
Loudon  hurried  upstairs  for  his  rifle.  In  the  street  could  be 
heard  the  voice  of  Judge  Allison  booming  instructions  to  the 


MARYSVILLE  217 

passersby  to  remove  themselves  and  their  ponies  from  the 
range  of  fire. 

"Geet  heem,  by  Gar!"  enjoined  Laguerre,  clicking  a  cart 
ridge  into  the  chamber  of  his  own  rifle.  "Geetheem!  You 
got  to  geet  heem!  I'm  behin'  you,  me!  I  trus*  dat  judge 
feller,  but  I  trus'  myself  more.  Eef  anybody  jump  sideway 
at  you,  I  geet  heem." 

"I'll  get  him,"  muttered  Loudon.  "Don't  worry  none, 
Telescope.  He'll  get  it  like  his  brother." 

"No,  no,  Tom,  no  fancy  shootin'  at  de  elbow,"  exclaimed 
Laguerre  in  alarm.  "Geet  hees  hair." 

"You  just  wait.     C'mon." 


CHAPTER    XX 

THE      RAILROAD      CORRAL 

EUDON  stepped  out  into  the  street.    Laguerre  stationed 
himself  on  the  sidewalk  twenty  yards  in  London's 
rear.     Every  window  and  doorway  giving  a  view  of 
the  scene  of  hostilities  was  crowded  with  spectators.     On  the 
sidewalk,  fifty  yards  from  the  hotel,  stood  Judge  Allison, 
watch  in  hand. 

Loudon  stood,  one  leg  thrust  slightly  forward,  his  eyes  on 
the  dance-hall  door,  and  his  cocked  rifle  in  the  hollow  of  his 
left  arm. 

Not  for  an  instant  did  he  fear  the  outcome.  His  self- 
confidence  was  supreme.  Oddly  enough,  his  mind  refused 
to  dwell  on  the  impending  duel.  He  could  think  of  nothing 
save  the  most  trivial  subjects  till  Luke  Maxson  stepped  out 
of  the  dance-hall  doorway. 

Then  a  prickling  twitched  the  skin  between  London's 
shoulders,  and  he  experienced  a  curious  species  of  exhilara 
tion.  It  reminded  him  of  a  long-ago  evening  in  Fort  Worth 
when  he  had  drunk  a  bottle  of  champagne.  The  exhilaration 
vanished  in  a  breath.  Remained  a  calculating  coldness  and 
the  pleasing  knowledge  that  Luke  Maxson  was  still  excited. 

Bang !  The  Judge's  six-shooter  spoke.  Instantly  the 
upper  half  of  Maxson's  figure  was  hidden  by  a  cloud  of 
smoke. 

Loudon  worked  his  Winchester  so  rapidly  that  the  reports 
sounded  like  the  roll  of  an  alarm-clock.  At  his  sixth  shot, 
simultaneously  with  a  blow  on  his  left  foot  that  jarred 
his  leg  to  the  knee,  he  saw  Luke  Maxson  drop  his  rifle  and 
fall  forward  on  his  hands  and  knees. 

Then  Maxson  jerked  his  body  sidewise  and  sat  up,  his 
back  toward  Loudon,  his  hands  clutching  his  legs. 

218 


THE  RAILROAD  CORRAL  219 

Loudon  lowered  the  hammer  of  his  Winchester  and  gazed 
down  at  his  numbed  foot.  Most  of  the  high  heel  of  his  boot 
had  been  torn  away.  Which  was  the  sole  result  of  his 
opponent's  marksmanship.  Walking  with  a  decided  list  to 
port  he  unhurriedly  crossed  to  the  hotel. 

"Gimme  a  drink!"  he  called  to  the  bartender.  "An* 
have  one  yoreself." 

"Forgeet  me,  huh?"  chuckled  Laguerre,  hard  on  his 
friend's  heels.  "Mak'  eet  t'ree,  meestair." 

"Say,  Tom,"  Laguerre  said,  when  they  were  alone.  *"W'y 
deed  you  tell  me  to  shut  up,  huh?" 

"Don't  yuh  see,  Telescope?"  replied  Loudon.  "Here's 
Bill  Archer  a  heap  suspicious  of  us  already.  He's  guessed 
we're  from  the  Bend,  but  if  we  don't  recognize  Luke  Maxson 
he  won't  know  what  to  think.  Anyway,  I'm  gamblin* 
he  won't  canter  right  off  an'  blat  out  to  the  88  that  two 
fellahs  are  on  their  trail.  Instead  o'  doin'  that  it's  likely 
he'll  traiLus  when  we  pull  our  freight,  an'  try  to  make  shore 
just  what,  our  game  is.  It's  our  job  to  keep  him  puzzled  till 
everythin's  cinched.  Then  he  can  do  what  he  likes.  It 
won't  make  a  bit  of  difference." 

"You  are  right,"  nodded  Laguerre.  "You  t'ink  sleecker 
dan  me  dees  tarn.  But  w'y  you  not  keel  de  man,  huh?" 

"  'Cause,  dead  an '  buried,  he  can't  be  identified.  Gripped 
up  in  bed  he'll  make  a  fine  Exhibit  A  for  our  outfit." 

"You  was  tak'  a  beeg  chance." 

"Oh,  not  so  big.  He  was  mad  when  he  came  into  the 
saloon,  an '  I  made  him  a  heap  madder  before  I  got  through 
talkin'  to  him.  Yuh  can't  shoot  good  when  yo're  mad." 

And  Loudon  grinned  at  Laguerre. 

"You  old  sun-of-a-gun ! "  said  his  friend,  admiringly. 

That  hearty  soul,  Judge  Allison,  brought  the  news  half  an 
hour  after  the  shooting  that  Luke  Maxson  was  far  from  being 
badly  wounded.    There  were,  it  seemed,  three  bullets  in 
Luke's  right  leg  and  two  in  his  left.     And  the  left  leg  was 
broken. 

At  this  last  Loudon  brightened  visibly.  He  had  feared 
that  his  adversary  had  merely  sustained  flesh  wounds.  A 


220  PARADISE  BEND 

broken  leg,  however,  would  confine  the  amiable  Luke  to  his 
bed  for  a  period  of  weeks,  which,  for  the  proper  furtherance  of 
London's  plans,  was  greatly  to  be  desired. 

Loudon  began  to  fear  for  the  safety  of  Judge  Allison. 
Marysville  was  not  apt  to  take  kindly  the  Judge's  rather  open 
espousal  of  the  stranger's  cause.  And  Loudon  liked  Judge 
Allison.  He  felt  that  the  Judge  was  honest;  that  he  had  been 
duped  by  Block  and  Archer  and  the  others  of  their  stripe;  that, 
his  eyes  once  opened  to  the  true  state  of  affairs,  the  Judge 
would  not  hesitate  to  show  the  malefactors  the  error  of  their 
ways. 

In  time  Loudon  intended  to  take  the  Judge  into  his  con 
fidence,  but  that  time  was  not  yet.  In  the  meantime,  no  evil 
must  come  to  Judge  Allison.  Loudon  took  the  Judge  aside. 

"Yore  Honour,"  said  he,  "ain't  yuh  just  a  little  too 
friendly  to  me  an*  my  friend?  We  don't  have  to  live  here, 
but  you  do." 

The  Judge  did  not  immediately  make  reply.  He  put  his 
head  on  one  side  and  looked  at  Loudon  under  his  eyebrows. 

"In  so  far  as  I  may,"  said  the  Judge  at  last,  "I  do  what 
pleases  me.  Fven  so,  no  man  in  the  possession  of  his  senses 
performs  any  act  without  good  reason.  Regarding  my 
reason  for  what  little  I  did,  I  can  at  present  say,  *  Cherchez  la 
femme.'  Ah,  here  comes  the  stage!  I  must  go  to  the  post- 
office.  Come  to  my  office  in  about  fifteen  minutes,  Mr. 
Franklin,  and  remember,  'Cherchez  lafemme.'" 

Loudon  stared  in  perplexity  after  the  retreating  figure. 

" 'Shershay  lafam,' "  he  repeated.  "Now  I'd  like  to  know 
what  that  means.  Shershay  la  f am.  Don't  sound  like  Injun 
talk.  An'  he  wants  to  see  me  in  fifteen  minutes,  does  he? 
Maybe,  now,  he'll  bear  watchin'  after  all." 

At  the  time  appointed  Loudon  entered  the  Judge's  office. 
The  Judge,  smoking  a  long  cigar,  his  feet  on  the  table,  waved 
Loudon  to  a  chair.  Loudon  unobtrusively  hitched  his  six- 
shooter  into  easy  drawing  position  as  he  sat  down.  He 
watched  the  Judge  like  a  cat.  The  Judge  smiled. 

"Friend,"  he  said,  "you  may  relax.  It's  quite  too  hot  to 
look  for  trouble  where  none  is.  My  intentions  are  of  the 


THE  RAILROAD  CORRAL  221 

friendliest.  Quite  recently  there  have  come  to  my  ears 
several  important  bits  of  information.  Among  other  inter 
esting  facts,  I  am  told  that  Sheriff  Block  has  sworn  in  twelve 
deputies  for  the  purpose  of  arresting  one  Thomas  London, 
lately  employed  by  the  Bar  S  ranch,  but  working  at  present 
for  the  Flying  M  in  Sunset  County. 

"The  man  Loudon  is  alleged  to  have  committed  divers 
crimes,  ranging  in  their  heinousness  from  rustling  and  assault 
with  murderous  intent,  to  simple  assault  and  battery. 
Thomas  Loudon  is  supposed  to  have  returned  to  the  Flying 
M,  but  the  worthy  sheriff  has  in  some  manner  gained  the 
impression  that  the  fugitive  is  still  within  the  confines  of  Fort 
Creek  County.  Hence  the  dozen  deputies." 

The  Judge  paused.  Loudon  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
crossed  one  leg  over  the  other,  and  rolled  a  cigarette.  He 
realized  now  that  Judge  Allison  was  unreservedly  his  friend. 

"It  is  only  a  question  of  time,"  continued  the  Judge, 
"when  a  batch  of  these  deputies  will  ride  into  Marysville. 
If  Thomas  Loudon  were  in  Marysville  at  present,  and  if  I 
were  in  his  boots,  I  should  saddle  my  horse  and  seek  refuge 
in  parts  unknown — for  a  time  at  least.  I  understand  that 
Thomas  Loudon  is  taking  steps  in  a  certain  matter  that  will, 
if  he  is  successful,  criminally  involve  large  and  powerful 
interests.  If  Thomas  Loudon  is  a  man  of  parts  and  wisdom 
he  will  take  his  steps  with  all  speed. 

"  Evidence  is  evidence,  and  the  more  there  is  of  it,  and  the 
stronger  it  is,  and  the  sooner  it  is  brought  forward,  the  better. 
For  the  better  information  of  Thomas  Loudon,  I  will  say  that, 
under  the  laws  of  this  territory,  a  warrant  issued  by  any 
judge  may  be  withdrawn  by  that  judge  at  his  discretion. 
For  instance,  should  Thomas  Loudon  present  evidence 
tending  to  discredit  the  individuals  swearing  out  the  warrant 
against  him,  said  warrant  would  stand  an  excellent  chance  of 
being  immediately  annulled.  Do  I  make  myself  clear?" 

"Couldn't  be  clearer,"  Loudon  said,  staring  up  at  the  ceil 
ing.  "I'll  bet  Tom  Loudon  would  be  a  heap  grateful  to  yuh 
if  he  could  'a'  heard  what  yuh  had  to  say." 

"Doubtless — doubtless.     I  trust  some  day  to  make  the 


222  PARADISE  BEND 

gentleman's  acquaintance.  As  I  was  saying,  these  deputies 
may  arrive  at  any  time.  I  do  not  believe  they  will  come 
before  to-morrow  at  the  earliest.  Yet  one  can  never  telL 
Parts  unknown  are  the  best  health  resorts  on  earth  at  times 
like  these." 

"Yo're  shore  whistlin',  Judge.  I  guess  we'll  pull  our 
freight  this  afternoon  or  to-night." 

When  Loudon  informed  Laguerre  in  the  privacy  of  their 
room  of  what  the  Judge  had  said,  the  swarthy  man  slapped 
his  leg  and  laughed  aloud. 

"By  Gar!"  he  exclaimed.  "By  Gar!  Dat  ees  damn 
fonny!"  Then,  in  a  lower  tone,  he  added,  "She  shore  one 
good  feller.  Wat  was  dose  word  she  say — dose  fonny  word 
you  not  know  w'at  dey  mean?" 

"  S  her  shay  lafam." 

"Cherchez  la  femme,  huh?  Dat  ees  Frangais.  Un  it 
mean,  'Fin'  de  woman.'" 

"'Find  the  woman'!  I'd  like  to  know  what  findin'  the 
woman's  got  to  do  with  it." 

"I  dunno.  But  dat's  w'at  de  word  mean,  all  right. 
W'at  I  wan '  for  know  ees  how  de  Judge  she  know  so  much 
'bout  you.  She  issue  de  warran ',  un  now  she  not  follow  eet 
up.  I  do  not  understan',  me." 

"Me  neither.  Lend  me  yore  knife,  Telescope,  will  yuh? 
Yores  is  sharper'n  mine,  an'  I  got  to  cut  some  leather  offen 
my  chaps  an'  make  me  a  new  heel.  I'll  prob'ly  have  time 
to  make  me  a  whole  new  pair  o'  boots  an'  a  saddle  before 
Johnny  an'  Chuck  drift  in.  Which  they're  the  slowest  pair 
of  bandits  livin'.  We'll  give  'em  till  daylight  to-morrow." 

Marysville,  whatever  opinions  it  may  have  held  concerning 
the  shooting  affray,  did  not  openly  disapprove.  No  one 
came  forward  to  take  up  the  quarrel  of  the  Maxson  brothers. 

As  to  Archer,  he  sat  alone  in  front  of  his  dance  hall. 
Loudon  perceived,  in  the  course  of  a  casual  stroll,  that  the 
man  wore  his  spurs,  and  that  two  of  the  horses  in  the  corral 
were  saddled  and  bridled.  He  also  noted  that  the  five  Barred 
Twin  Diamond  horses  were  still  in  the  corral.  He  dropped 
in  at  the  Judge's  office. 


THE  RAILROAD  CORRAL  223 

"Judge,"  said  London,  "it  just  struck  me  that  somebody 
might  want  to  buy  that  sorrel  hoss  o'  yores.  Yuh  see, 
I've  taken  quite  a  fancy  to  that  hoss.  I  might  want  to  buy 
him  myself  some  day.  Would  yuh  mind  hangin'  on  to  him 
till  I  come  back  from  where  I'm  goin'  ?  " 

"So  that's  how  the  wind  blows?"  the  Judge  said,  dis 
gustedly.  "I  might  have  known  it,  too.  He  was  so  cheap. 
Well,  Mr.  Franklin,  you  may  rest  assured  that  the  sorrel 
horse  remains  in  my  possession  until  your  return.  Confound 
it  all,  I  hate  to  part  with  him!  He's  a  good  horse." 

"He's  all  that.  But  maybe,  now,  yore  keepin'  him  could 
be  arranged  if  you  like  him  so  much.  I  might  not  want  him 
so  bad  after  all." 

"Corruption,  corruption!"  exclaimed  Judge  Allison,  vio 
lently  winking  his  right  eye.  "Would  you  bribe  the  bench, 
Mr.  Franklin?  No,  not  another  word,  sir.  We  are  drawing 
a  trifle  ahead  of  our  subject.  Let  me  impress  upon  you  the 
necessity  for  prompt  action.  I  should  make  my  departure 
before  sunset,  if  I  were  you." 

"Deputies?" 

"  As  to  them,  I  cannot  say,"  said  the  Judge,  shaking  his  head, 
"  but  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  Marysville  will  not  be  a  health 
resort  to-night.  The  wicked  walk  in  the  darkness,  you  know, 
and  not  half-an-hour  ago  I  heard  something  that  makes  me 
quite  positive  that  the  said  evildoers  will  endeavour  to  walk 
to  some  purpose  this  evening.  I  was  on  the  point  of  sending 
you  warning  when  you  came  in." 

"Now  that's  right  friendly  of  yuh,  Judge.  Me  an'  my 
friend  won't  forget  it.  But  ain't  there  just  some  chance  o' 
these  here  evildoers  a-comin'  to  see  you?" 

"I  have  a  friend  or  two  here  myself.  I  told  you  this 
morning  that  I  stand  in  no  danger.  I  have  had  no  reason  to 
change  my  opinion." 

"All  right,  you  know  best.  I  guess  Telescope  an'  me'll 
pull  our  freight  instanter.  We  won't  wait  for  my  friends. 
When  they  come  would  yuh  mind  tellin'  'em  we've  gone 
to  Damson?" 

"I  shall  be  delighted.     Who  are  your  friends?" 


224  PARADISE  BEND 

"Johnny  Ramsay  o'  the  Cross-in-a-box  an'  Chuck  Morgan 
o'  the  Bar  S." 

"'Chuck  Morgan.'  Well  do  I  know  the  gentleman. 
I  fined  him  twenty-five  dollars  last  fall  for  riding  his  horse 
into  Billy  West's  saloon,  roping  the  stove,  and  trying  to  drag 
it  through  the  doorway." 

"That's  Chuck  all  over!  But  he  didn't  tell  the  Bar  S 
no  thin'  about  a  fine." 

"The  Bar  S!  What  are  you  talking  about?  You're 
from  the  southern  ranges,  and  I'd  advise  you  not  to  forget  it." 

"I  won't  again,"  London  grinned.  "So  long,  Judge,  an' 
we're  obliged  to  yuh  for " 

"For  nothing!  For  nothing!  And  don't  forget  that 
either.  Now  good-bye  and  good  luck." 

London  and  Laguerre,  having  paid  their  bill,  left  the  hotel 
by  the  back  way.  A  pale  little  man,  one  of  the  dance-hall 
fiddlers,  was  flirting  with  the  cook  at  the  kitchen  doorway. 
When  the  two  men  appeared,  carrying  their  saddles  and  rifles, 
the  pale  one  glided  swiftly  around  the  corner  of  the  house. 

"See  that?"  muttered  Loudon,  cinching  up  rapidly. 

Laguerre  nodded. 

" 'em!"  he  whispered.  "Hope  dey  follow!  By 

Gar!  I  do,  me!" 

"No  use  tryin'  to  slide  out  past  the  corral  now,"  said 
Loudon.  "We  might  as  well  use  Main  Street." 

They  were  glad  of  their  decision.  They  rode  into  Main 
Street  just  in  time  to  see  Archer  and  a  companion  turning  the 
corner  of  the  dance  hall.  The  Flying  M  men  headed  north 
ward.  The  other  two  turned  their  horses'  heads  to  the  south. 

Where  Main  Street  became  the  trail,  Loudon  and  Laguerre 
swung  eastward  and  loped  steadily  for  several  miles.  When 
their  shadows  were  long  in  front  of  them  they  climbed  the 
reverse  slope  of  a  little  hill. 

Picketing  their  horses  below  the  crest  they  lay  down  be 
hind  an  outcrop  and  watched  the  back  trail.  Within  thirty 
minutes  appeared  two  dots  on  a  ridge  three  miles  distant. 

"Just  like  wolves,  ain't  they?"  chuckled  Loudon,  and 
wriggled  backward. 


THE  RAILROAD  CORRAL  225 

"We  weel  bushwhack  dem  here,  huh?"  growled  Laguerre. 
"Eet  ees  de  good  plass.  Dey  weel  pass  on  our  trail  not  two 
hundred  yard  away.  We  geet  dem  easy." 

"No,  not  yet,  Telescope,"  said  Loudon.  "It  ain't  neces 
sary,  anyhow.  We'll  ride  on  till  it  gets  dark.  Then  we'll 
light  a  fire  an'  vamose,  an'  leave  them  holdin'  the  bag." 

"Dat  ees  all  right,"  Laguerre  said,  "but  keelin'  ees  better. 
W'y  not?  No  one  weel  know.  Un  eef  dey  do,  w'at  mattair? 
Dey  are  de  teenhorn.  We  weel  have  dat  all  prove'.  I  say, 
keel  dem,  me." 

Unconsciously  Laguerre  fingered  the  handle  of  his  skinning- 
knife.  Loudon  laughed. 

"C'mon,"  he  said.  "There'll  be  enough  o'  killin'  before 
this  job's  over." 

Grumbling,  for  to  him  an  ambush  was  such  a  ridiculously 
simple  method  of  disposing  of  two  enemies,  Laguerre  fol 
lowed  his  comrade.  They  rode  till  night  came  on.  Then, 
in  the  middle  of  a  mile-wide  flat,  where  cottonwoods  grew 
beside  a  tiny  creek,  they  dismounted  and  loosened  cinches. 

Hobbled,  their  bridles  off,  the  horses  grazed.  Laguerre, 
still  protesting,  made  the  fire.  He  built  it  cunningly,  after 
the  Indian  manner,  with  an  arrangement  of  sticks  to  leeward, 
so  that  it  would  burn  slowly  and  for  a  long  time. 

"Dere,"  said  Laguerre,  as  the  flames  bit  and  took  hold, 
"dat  weel  fool  dem.  But  I  t'ink  de  Winchestair  be  de 
bes'  t'ing,  me." 

Loudon  laughed  as  he  swung  into  the  saddle.  Inwardly 
he  quite  agreed  with  Laguerre  in  the  matter  of  an  ambush. 
Enemies  should  be  crushed  as  expeditiously  and  with  as 
little  danger  to  one's  self  as  possible.  Yet  Loudon  was  too 
humanly  normal  to  practise  the  doctrine  in  all  its  ruthless- 
ness.  To  do  that  one  must  be  either  a  great  general  or  a 
savage.  Laguerre  was  not  abnormal,  but  he  was  half  Indian, 
and  at  times  he  became  wholly  one.  This  was  one  of  the 
times. 

For  three  miles  the  two  men  rode  in  the  creek  water,  then, 
guided  by  the  stars,  they  headed  southwest.  Toward  mid 
night  they  came  upon  a  well-marked  trail.  They  knew  it 


PARADISE  BEND 

could  be  none  other  than  the  trail  to  Blossom,  and  they 
turned  into  it.  Under  the  spell  of  the  horses*  steady  walk- 
along  Laguerre  became  reminiscent. 

"De  ole  tarn,  dey  are  wit'  me  now,  my  frien',"  he  observed, 
"but  I  do  not  feel  varree  bad,  me.  I  am  on  de  move.  Un 
soon  dere  weel  be  beeg  fight.  I  have  been  de  scout,  I  have 
leeve  wit'  Enjun,  I  have  hunt  all  t'ing',  un  I  tell  you,  Tom, 
dere  ees  nothin'  like  huntin'  de  man.  Dat  mak'  me  feel  fine. 

"By  Gar!  w'en  I  was  young  man  een  Blackfoot  camp, 
I  was  go  ovair  to  de  Assiniboine,  un  I  run  off  seex  pony  un 
geet  two  scalp.  Dat  mak'  me  beeg  man  wit'  de  Blackfoot. 
Dey  say  my  medicine  was  good,  un  eet  was  good,  by  Gar! 
Eet  was  de  Winchestair.  De  Assiniboine  w'at  chase  me  was 
surprise'.  Dey  not  know  de  Winchestair  den.  Deir  gun 
all  single-shot." 

And  Laguerre  laughed  at  this  recollection  of  aboriginal 
amazement.  Loudon  made  no  comment.  The  laughter 
died  in  a  grunt.  The  harsh  voice  resumed: 

"By  Gar!  I  bless  de  luck  dat  Scotty  sen'  me  wit* 
you.  I  mean  for  queet  un  go  'way  wit'  you  like  I  toF  you,  un 
w'en  dem  horse  t'ief  run  off  de  pony,  I  know  I  can  not  queet. 
I  can  not  leave  Scotty  like  dat.  She  ees  good  frien'  to  me. 
But  now  I  go  'way  like  I  wan',  un  I  work  for  Scotty,  too. 
I  am  almost  satisfy.  But  at  de  las'  I  weel  go  'way.  De  ole 
tarn,  dey  weel  mak'  me.  I  mus'  fin'  Pony  George  before  de 
en'." 

"Maybe  he's  dead,"  suggested  Loudon,  moved  to  cheer  up 
his  friend. 

"No,  she  ees  not  dead.  She  'live  yet.  I  can  not  tell  you 
how  I  know.  I  not  know  how  myself,  me.  But  I  know. 
Somew'ere  she  wait  teel  I  come.  Un  I  weel  come.  I  weel 
come.  Den,  w'en  hees  hair  ees  on  my  bridle,  I  weel  be  com 
plete  satisfy,  un  I  weel  work  on  de  ranch  steady.  I  not  care 
w'at  happen  den." 

Laguerre  fell  silent.  His  reminiscent  mood  passed  on  to 
his  comrade.  Since  leaving  the  Bend  the  days  had  been  so 
crowded  that  Loudon  had  had  no  time  to  think  of  anything 
save  the  work  in  hand.  But  now  the  tension  had  slackened, 


THE  RAILROAD  CORRAL  227 

the  old  days  came  back  to  Loudon,  and  he  thought  of  the  girl 
he  had  once  loved. 

He  saw  her  as  he  used  to  see  her  on  their  rides  together  along 
the  Lazy  River;  he  saw  her  swinging  in  the  hammock  on  the 
porch  of  the  Bar  S  ranch  house;  he  saw  her  smiling  at  him 
from  the  doorway  of  the  room  in  the  Burr  house;  and  he  saw 
her  dark  eyes  with  the  hurt  look  in  them,. her  shaking  should 
ers  when  she  turned  sidewise  in  the  chair  and  wept,  her 
blindly  swaying  figure  when  she  stumbled  from  the  room. 
All  these  things  he  saw  on  the  screen  of  his  mind. 

Apparently  she  loved  him.  But  was  the  semblance  the 
reality?  It  was  all  very  well  for  Mrs.  Burr  to  talk  about 
coquettes.  Kate  Saltoun  had  played  with  him,  had  led  him 
on  to  propose,  and  then  at  the  end  had  with  contumely  and 
scorn  refused  him.  His  sense  of  injury  had  so  developed  that 
his  brain  had  come  to  dwell  more  on  the  contumely  and  the 
scorn  than  it  did  on  the  refusal.  Mankind  is  apt  to  lose  sight 
of  the  main  issue  and  to  magnify  minor  events  till  at  last  the 
latter  completely  overshadow  the  former. 

"It  ain't  possible,"  reasoned  Loudon,  "to  care  for  a  girl 
that  called  yuh  a  ignorant  puncher.  Some  day  she  might  get 
mad  an'  call  yuh  that  again,  an*  then  where'd  yuh  be? 
Wouldn't  yuh  look  nice  with  a  wife  that  knowed  she  was 
better'n  you  an'  told  yuh  so  whenever  she  felt  like  it?" 

"Well,  ain't  she  better'n  you?"  queried  the  honest  voice  of 
Inner  Consciousness. 

"  She's  lots  better,"  admitted  Innate  Stubbornness.  "  But 
she  wants  to  keep  still  about  it." 

"An'  she's  shore  a  razzle-dazzler  in  looks,  ain't  she?" 
persisted  Inner  Consciousness.  "An*  her  ways  have  changed 
a  lot.  An'  she  acts  like  she  likes  yuh.  Lately  yuh  been  kind 
o'  missin'  her  some  yoreself,  ain't  yuh?  Ain't  yuh,  huh? 
Be  kind  o'  nice  to  have  her  round  right  along,  wouldn't  it? 
Shore  it  would.  Which  bein'  so,  don't  yuh  guess  Mis'  Burr 
knows  what  she's  talkin'  about?  Why  can't  yuh  have  sense 
an'  take  the  lady's  advice?" 

"I  won't  be  drove,"  insisted  Innate  Stubbornness.  "I 
won't  be  drove,  an '  that's  whatever." 


228  PARADISE  BEND 

Inner  Consciousness  immediately  curled  up  and  went  to 
sleep.  It  had  recognized  the  futility  of  arguing  with  Innate 
Stubbornness.  Loudon  wondered  why  he  could  no  longer 
think  connectedly.  He  gave  up  trying. 

When  day  broke,  the  two  men  left  the  trail  and  rode  south 
ward.  They  were  tired,  but  they  did  not  dare  halt.  In  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon,  emerging  from  a  draw,  they  saw  the 
rails  of  the  Great  Western  Railroad  a  hundred  yards  ahead. 
They  rode  westward  along  the  line  and  reached  Damson  an 
hour  later. 

Two  saloons,  a  blacksmith  shop,  three  houses,  the  station, 
and  a  water-tank,  all  huddling  on  the  flanks  of  a  railroad 
corral,  made  up  the  town  of  Damson.  It  was  an  unlovely 
place,  and,  to  complete  the  effect,  a  dust-devil  received  them 
with  open  arms. 

"Looks  like  that  corral  had  been  used  lately,"  observed 
Loudon  between  coughs. 

"Bunch  o'  pony  stay  dere  tree-four  day,  two  week  ago, 
mabbeso,"  qualified  Laguerre. 

They  dismounted  and  entered  the  cracked  and  peeling 
station.  The  agent,  a  pale,  flat-chested  young  man,  re 
sponded  readily  to  London's  inquiries. 

"Surely,"  he  said,  "about  two  weeks  ago" —  riffling 
duplicate  way-bills — "yeP>  on  the  seventeenth,  Bill  Archer 
shipped  ninety-five  head  Barred  Twin  Diamond  bosses  to 
Cram  an*  Docket  in  Piegan  City.  The  two  Maxson  boys 
an'  a  feller  they  called  Rudd  was  with  Archer.  Nope,  no 
trouble  at  all.  Eastbound?  She's  five  hours  late.  Due 
maybe  in  an  hour  an'  a  half  if  she  don't  lose  some  more. 
Yep,  I'll  set  the  board  against  her." 

When  Mr.  Cram,  senior  member  of  the  great  horse-dealing 
firm  of  Cram  &  Docket,  came  down  to  his  office  in  the  morn 
ing,  Tom  Loudon  was  sitting  on  the  office-steps,  an  expression 
of  keenest  satisfaction  on  his  sunburnt,  cinder-grimed  face. 
He  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  preceding  two  hours 
strolling  among  the  corrals  of  Cram  &  Docket.  Mr.  Cram 
acknowledged  by  a  curt  nod  the  greeting  of  Loudon. 


THE  RAILROAD  CORRAL  229 

"I  have  all  the  men  I  can  use,"  began  Mr.  Cram,  gruffly, 
"and " 

"T'sall  right,"  interrupted  Loudon.  "I  ain't  needin'  a 
job  this  mornin'.  I  just  thought  I'd  tell  yuh  that  there's 
ninety-five  head  o'  stolen  hosses  in  number  eight  corral." 

"Wha-what?"  gasped  Mr.  Cram. 

"Hurts,  don't  it?  Shouldn't  wonder.  Yes,  sir,  them 
ninety-five  Barred  Twin  Diamonds  yuh  bought  offen  Bill 
Archer  o '  Marysville  an '  shipped  from  Damson  was  all  stole 
from  Scotty  Mackenzie's  Flying  M  ranch  up  north  near 
Paradise  Bend,  in  the  Dogsoldier  valley." 

"Why — why — I  don't  understand,"  stuttered  Mr.  Cram. 
"I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

Mr.  Cram  became  suddenly  aware  of  the  exceeding  chilli 
ness  in  a  pair  of  gray  eyes. 

"Meanin'  how?"  queried  Loudon,  softly. 

"Well,  of  course,  I  believe  you're  acting  in  good  faith, 
but— —  Oh,  come  inside." 

"No  need.  My  train's  due  in  thirty  minutes.  Scotty 
Mackenzie  an'  his  foreman  Doubleday  will  come  down  here 
an'  prove  ownership  in  about  a  week  or  so." 

"But  I've  just  sold  that  bunch  to  a  firm  in  Omaha!" 

"  Yuh  won't  ship  'em.  Yuh  see,  I  thought  o '  yore  sellin ' 
'em,  an '  I  woke  up  Judge  Curran  at  six  o'clock  an '  got  him  to 
issue  a  injunction  against  yore  shippin'  'em.  So  I  guess 
yuh'll  keep  'em  till  Scotty  comes.  Yep,  I  guess  yuh  will, 
Mr.  Cram.  See,  here  comes  the  marshal  now.  Looks  like 
that  white  paper  he's  got  might  be  the  injunction,  don't  it?" 


CHAPTER    XXI 

THE    JUDGE'S    OFFICE 

EJDON  dropped  off  the  train  at  Damson  into  the  arms  of 
Johnny  Ramsay  and  Chuck  Morgan.  Bawling 
"Pop  goes  the  weasel"  they  fell  upon  him,  and  the 
three  danced  upon  the  platform  till  a  board  broke  and  Chuck 
Morgan  fell  down. 

Then,  in  company  with  the  more  sedate  Laguerre,  they 
jingled  across  the  street  to  one  of  the  saloons.  An  hour  later 
they  were  riding  northward,  and  Loudon  was  telling  Johnny 
and  Chuck  what  had  occurred. 

"O*  course,  just  my  luck!"  complained  Johnny.  "All 
done,  an'  I  don't  have  a  look-in.  It's  all  the  fault  o'  that 
criminal  Chuck  Morgan.  He's  out  on  Cow  Creek,  an'  I 
have  to  comb  the  range  for  him." 

"Yuh  act  like  I  done  it  a-purpose!"  barked  Chuck.  "O' 
course  I  knowed  yuh  was  comin'!  That's  why  I  went  out 
there.  Think  I'm  a  mind-reader?  " 

"Yuh  wouldn't  know  a  mind  if  yuh  seen  one,"  retorted 
Johnny.  "  How  could  yuh,  not  ownin '  such  a  thing  yoreself  ? 
Hey!  Don't  kick  my  cay  use !  He's  a  orphan.  Go  on,  Tom, 
tell  us  some  more  about  Archer." 

The  four  men  did  not  push  their  mounts.  There  was  no 
necessity  for  haste,  and  they  spent  the  following  afternoon 
playing  cards  in  a  draw  five  miles  out  of  Marysville.  When 
the  sun  had  set,  they  rode  onward. 

Separating  at  the  edge  of  the  town,  thr,t  their  arrival  might 
be  unremarked,  they  met  in  the  rear  of  Judge  Allison's  corral. 
Alone,  Loudon  approached  the  house  on  foot.  There  was  a 
light  in  the  office.  He  rapped  on  the  door. 

"Come  in,"  called  the  Judge. 

Loudon  pushed  open  the  door.    For  an  instant  he  glimpsed 

230 


THE  JUDGE'S  OFFICE  231 

the  fat  figure  of  the  Judge  and  beyond  him  the  surprised  faces 
of  Archer  and  Sheriff  Block,  and  then  Archer's  hand  flung 
sidewise  and  knocked  over  the  lamp.  London's  gun  was  out, 
but  he  did  not  dare  fire  for  fear  of  hitting  the  Judge. 

Bang !  A  tongue  of  flame  spat  past  London's  chin. 
Burning  powder-grains  singed  his  neck.  A  hard  object  smote 
him  violently  in  the  pit  of  the  stomach  and  knocked  the  wind 
out  of  him.  London  fell  flat  on  his  back.  He  was  dimly 
conscious  that  somebody,  in  leaping  over  him,  stepped  on  his 
face,  and  that  a  horse  had  broken  into  the  Judge's  office  and 
was  kicking  the  furniture  to  pieces. 

"Whatsa  matter?  Whatsa  matter?"  demanded  Johnny 
Ramsay,  stooping  over  the  prostrate  London.  "Who 
plugged  yuh?" 

"Ah — ugh — ugh — I — ca — ugh — can't — ugh — can't  b-b- 
breathe!"  gasped  Loudon. 

Johnny  began  to  tear  open  his  friend's  shirt. 

"Where's  he  hit?"  queried  Chuck  Morgan,  anxiously. 

Laguerre  squatted  down  and  struck  a  match.  None  of  the 
three  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  the  terrific  uproar  in  the 
office  of  the  Judge. 

Smash!  A  table  skittered  across  the  room  and  brought  up 
against  the  wall. 

Thud  !  Bump  !  Crash  !  A  chair  was  resolved  into  its 
component  parts.  The  horse  lay  down  on  his  back  and  rolled 
to  the  accompaniment  of  falling  books,  pictures,  and  finally 
the  bookcase. 

Loudon  suddenly  regained  his  breath  and,  to  the  aston 
ishment  of  his  comrades  who  believed  him  to  be  seriously 
wounded,  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  plunged  through  the 
doorway  into  the  office.  Apparently  the  horse  had  gathered 
a  friend  unto  himself  and  both  animals  were  striving  to  kick 
their  way  through  the  wall. 

Loudon  felt  his  way  across  the  wreckage  and  laid  hold  of  a 
waving  leg.  He  worked  his  way  up  that  leg,  and  was  kicked 
three  times  in  the  process,  but  at  last  his  clawing  fingers  found 
a  throat — a  too  fat  throat.  London,  realizing  his  mistake, 
groped  purposefully  for  thirty  seconds,  and  then  closed  his 


232  PARADISE  BEND 

hands  round  another  neck  and  exerted  pressure.  The 
tumult  stilled. 

"Thank  you,  friend,*'  huskily  breathed  the  Judge's  voice. 
"Choke  him  some  more,  but  don't  quite  strangle  him." 

The  Judge  wriggled  to  his  feet,  and  Loudon  choked  his 
squirming  victim  almost  into  unconsciousness.  A  match 
crackled  and  flared.  By  its  flickering  light  were  revealed 
Loudon  kneeling  on  Archer's  chest,  Archer  himself  purple  in 
the  face,  the  Judge,  naked  to  the  waist  and  panting  like  a 
mogul's  air-pump,  and  in  the  background  the  intensely 
interested  faces  of  London's  three  friends. 

Loudon  eased  the  pressure  of  his  fingers,  and  Archer 
breathed  again.  Eyes  rolling  in  fright,  the  Judge's  negro 
peered  around  the  door-jamb.  His  master  ordered  him  to 
fetch  a  lamp. 

"Did  the  sheriff  bring  any  deputies  with  him?"  inquired 
Loudon,  hopefully. 

"Not  a  deputy,"  replied  the  Judge. 

"  That's  tough.  Well,  maybe  we'll  find  'em  later.  No  use 
chasin'  the  sheriff  anyhow." 

When  the  lamp  arrived,  Loudon  introduced  his  friends. 
The  Judge  shook  hands  cordially,  and  recalled  himself  to 
Chuck  Morgan's  memory  in  a  way  to  make  that  gentleman 
grin.  One  could  not  help  but  like  Judge  Allison  even  if  he  did 
fine  one  on  occasion.  His  pink  nakedness  covered  by  a  new 
frock  coat,  the  Judge  sat  down  on  the  overturned  bookcase. 

Came  a  knock  then  at  the  door,  and  the  voice  of  the  mar 
shal  requesting  news  of  the  Judge's  welfare.  The  marshal 
entered  and  gazed  about  him  with  incurious  eyes. 

"I  thought  mebbe  yuh  was  plugged  or  somethin',  Judge," 
announced  the  marshal.  "Need  me?" 

"No,  Jim,"  replied  the  Judge.  "A  gun  went  off  by  acci 
dent,  and  I  and  my  friends  have  been  taking  a  little  exercise. 
Have  you  see  the  sheriff  anywhere  in  the  vicinity?" 

"I  seen  him  leavin'  the  vicinity  as  fast  as  his  hoss  could 
carry  him.  If  he  keeps  on  a-goin '  at  the  rate  he  was  travellin ' 
an '  don't  stop  nowheres  he'd  ought  to  be  in  Canada  inside  o ' 
two  days.  Some  o'  yore  friends  is  outside,  Judge.  I'll  just 


THE  JUDGE'S  OFFICE  233 

go  tell  'em  it's  all  right.  If  yuh  want  me  later  I'll  be  right 
across  the  street." 

The  marshal  departed  to  allay  popular  anxiety.  The 
Judge  smiled.  Archer  raised  himself  on  one  elbow. 

"No  use  feelin'  for  yore  gun,"  said  Loudon.  "I've  got 
it." 

"Well,  I'd  like  to  know  what  yuh  wrastled  with  me  for, 
Judge,"  complained  Archer.  "You  an'  me's  always  been 
friends." 

"Friendship  ceases  when  any  friend  upsets  my  reading- 
lamp,"  countered  the  Judge.  "  You  might  have  set  the  house 
in  a  blaze.  It  struck  me,  you  know,  that  you  might  possibly 
leave  without  explaining  your  action.  Hence  my  attempt  at 
forcible  restraint.  I  had  no  other  reason,  of  course.  What 
other  reason  could  I  have?" 

Archer  looked  his  unbelief.     The  Judge  winked  at  Loudon. 

"Judge,"  said  Loudon,  "in  the  corrals  o'  Cram  an'  Docket 
in  Piegan  City  are  ninety-five  head  o '  Barred  Twin  Diamond 
hosses,  all  stole  from  the  Fly  in'  M  ranch  up  near  Paradise 
Bend.  Them  hosses  was  shipped  from  Damson  by  Bill 
Archer  here,  the  two  Maxson  boys,  an'  Rudd  o'  the  88. 

"  The  five  hosses  in  Archer's  corral  an '  the  one  he  sold  you 
was  in  the  stolen  bunch,  too.  My  friend,  Telescope  Laguerre, 
an '  I  can  swear  to  a  few  of  'em,  an '  any  expert  could  tell  yuh 
the  brand  was  altered  from  the  Flyin'  M.  How  about  it, 
Archer?" 

"Nothin*  to  say,"  replied  Archer,  defiantly. 

"This  is  a  serious  charge,"  murmured  Judge  Allison. 
"  Do  you  wish  me  to  issue  warrants  for  Archer  and  the  others, 
Mr.  Franklin?" 

"  Issue  all  the warrants  yo're  a  mind  to ! "  cried  Archer. 

"lain'ttalkin'I" 

"Now  look  here,"  said  Loudon.  "Turn  yore  tongue  loose 
an'  it  won't  go  so  hard  with  yuh.  We  know  who's  behind 
yuh.  What's  the  use  o'  yore  swingin'  for  them?  Have 
sense,  man.  There's  enough  evidence  against  yuh  to  lynch 
yuh  forty  times." 

"Bring  on  yore  bale  o'  rope,"  snarled  Archer.     "I  ain't 


234  PARADISE  BEND 

worryin'  none.    If  yuh  know  who's  behind  me,  what's  the 
use  o'  askin'  me  any  thin'?" 

The  contumacious  Archer  had  the  rights  of  the  matter,  and 
London  realized  it. 

"  We'd  ought  to  lynch  him,"  declared  Johnny  Ramsay  with 
conviction. 

"Not  in  Marysville,  young  man,"  said  the  Judge.  "Hav 
ing,  as  it  were,  been  the  means  of  preventing  Archer's  escape, 
I  can  not  allow  him  to  be  hung  without  due  process  of  law. 
I  shall  be  delighted  to  commit  him  to  the  calaboose.  Archer, 
you  confounded  rascal,  I  shall  attach  your  dance  hall  until  I 
recover  the  price  of  that  horse  you  sold  me !  I  thought  you 
were  a  friend  of  mine,  and  you  make  me  a  receiver  of  stolen 
property.  The  best  animal  I  ever  bought,  too.  Damit,  sir ! 
I  shall  try  you  separately  for  each  horse!" 

"He  might  mebbe  escape  or  somethin',"  dubiously  sug 
gested  Chuck  Morgan. 

"Chuck,  the  individuals  whom  I  commit  do  not  escape," 
the  Judge  said,  severely.  "And  in  the  case  of  Archer  I  shall 
take  particular  pains  to  see  that  he  does  not  break  jail. 
Have  no  doubts  on  that  score." 

He  broke  off  and  cursed  Archer  with  wholly  unjudicial 
fervour. 

"Damit!"  he  continued.  "If  I  hadn't  known  that  the 
rascal  wanted  the  horse  in  order  to  conceal  evidence,  I'd 
have  sold  it  back  to  him  to-night.  The  five  Barred  Twin 
Diamond  horses  in  his  corral  are  no  longer  there.  They 
vanished  yesterday.  But  the  sorrel  won't  vanish.  He'll 
stay  right  in  my  corral  till  wanted.  Gentlemen,  last  night 
someone  endeavoured  to  steal  him.  Luckily,  I  was  watch 
ing  and  with  a  couple  of  shots  I  drove  off  the  would-be 
thief. 

"To-night  Archer  and  the  sheriff  came  to  me  and  wished  to 
buy  the  animal.  I  refused,  and  they  were  endeavouring  to 
persuade  me  when  you  entered,  Mr.  Franklin.  By  the  way, 
if  you  run  across  Thomas  London,  you  might  tell  him  that 
the  warrant  issued  for  him  has  been  quashed.  Tell  him  that 
I  hope  to  meet  him  in  the  not-too-distant  future.  Under- 


THE  JUDGE'S  OFFICE  235 

stand — in  the  future?    I  shall  see  that  the  Maxson  boys 
are  put  under  arrest,  and  a  warrant  issued  for  Rudd." 

"No  need  of  issuin'  one  for  him,"  said  Loudon. 

"Probably  not.  Still,  the  legal  formalities  must  be 
observed." 

"Shore,  you've  got  the  right  idea,  Judge.  Well,  I  guess 
we  might  as  well  be  weavin'  along.  So  long,  Judge." 

"So  long,  Mr.  Franklin.  So  long,  gentlemen.  On  your 
way  out  I  wish  you'd  request  the  marshal  to  step  in." 

"Wat  ees  next?"  inquired  Laguerre,  when  the  four  were 
in  the  saddle. 

"Somebody's  got  to  go  north  an'  notify  Scotty,"  replied 
Loudon.  "You  an'  I'll  scamper  round  the  Lazy  River 
country  an'  see  what  we  can  dig  up." 

"I  know  just  what's  comin'!"  exclaimed  Johnny  Ramsay, 
disgustedly.  "  Chuck  an '  me  are  elected  to  travel  while  you 
an'  Telescope  have  all  the  fun.  Yo're  glommin*  all  the  ex 
citement.  It  ain't  right." 

"Don't  fret  none,  Johnny-jump-up,"  grinned  Loudon. 
"  Yuh'll  have  all  the  excitement  on  the  map  when  yuh  come 
back  with  Scotty  Mackenzie  an'  the  Fly  in'  M  outfit.  What 
do  yuh  s'pose'll  happen  when  we  go  bulgin '  out  to  the  88  to 
grab  Rudd?  Yuh  don't  think  there  won't  be  a  battle,  do 
yuh?" 

"There'll  be  a  skirmish,  anyway,  before  we  get  back," 
complained  Johnny,  "or  I  don't  know  you." 

"I  can't  help  that,  can  I?  If  some  88  sport  tries  to 
ventilate  me  an'  Telescope  we  can't  wait  for  you  fellahs. 
So  that's  the  how  of  it.  You  an'  Chuck  slide  up  to  the 
Fly  in'  M,  an'  when  yuh  come  back  yuh'll  find  Telescope  an* 
me  waitin'  for  yuh  at  the  Cross-in-a-box.  See?" 

"Oh,  I  see  all  right,"  grunted  Chuck  Morgan.  "I  see 
yo're  a  hawg,  Tom.  All  yuh  need  is  bristles.  Tell  yuh  what, 
send  Johnny,  an'  let  me  stay  with  you.  Don't  need  two 
fellers  to  carry  one  little  message." 

"Not  on  yore  life!"  cried  the  indignant  Johnny.  "Send 
Chuck  by  himself.  I  don't  wanna  go.  I  never  did  like  the 
climate  up  on  the  Dogsoldier  nohow.  It  ain't  healthy,  an' 


236  PARADISE  BEND 

it'll  make  me  sick  or  somethin'.  An'  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  risk  my 
valuable  health  for  no  man.  No,  sir,  little  Johnny  Ramsay 
ain't  goin'  to." 

"When  yuh  see  Scotty,"  said  Loudon,  totally  unmindful 
of  Johnny's  tirade,  "tell  him  to  bring  four  or  five  o'  the  boys 
from  the  Bend  besides  the  reg'lar  outfit.  He'll  want  to  leave 
a  couple  at  the  ranch.  With  us  four  that'll  be  fifteen  or 
sixteen  men." 

"We're  elected  all  right,  Chuck,"  said  Johnny,  mournfully. 

"An*  don't  get  rambunctious  an'  ride  through  Farewell," 
pursued  Loudon.  "Ride  round  it — ride  'way  round  it." 

"An'  be  sure  an*  wrap  up  our  tootsies  good  an'  warm  every 
night,"  contributed  Chuck  Morgan. 

"An'  take  our  soothin'  sirup  before  each  meal,"  added 
Johnny  Ramsay.  "Lend  us  yore  teethin'  ring,  Tom.  I 
done  forgot  mine,  an'  I'm  plumb  shore  that  careless  infant, 
Chuck,  has  lost  his." 


CHAPTER    XXII 

UNDER      THE      RIDGE 

A'  DAY'S  end,  some  forty-eight  hours  after  parting 
with  Johnny  Ramsay  and  Chuck  Morgan,  Loudon 
and  Laguerre  rode  up  to  the  Bar  S  line-camp  on 
Pack-saddle  Creek.  Hockling  and  Red  Kane  were  unsaddling. 

"  Hello,  rustler ! "  bawled  Red  Kane.  "  Don't  yuh  know  no 
better 'n  to  come  fussin'  round  me  when  I'm  broke?  There's 
two  hundred  dollars  reward  for  yuh." 

"Howdy,  Red,"  said  Loudon,  grinning.  "Hello,  Hock. 
Shake  hands  with  my  friend,  Mr.  Laguerre.  Telescope, 
these  here  bandits  are  Mr.  Hockling  an'  Mr.  Kane — Red 
for  short.  Boys,  did  I  hear  yuh  say  two  hundred?  Well, 
that  shore  makes  me  plumb  ashamed.  A  thousand  ain't  none 
too  much  for  a  road-agent  like  me." 

"  Yo're  right  it  ain't,"  laughed  Hockling.  "But  say,  Tom, 
no  jokin'j  yesterday  Red  an '  me  cut  the  trail  o '  six  deputies — 
yeah,  some  o'  that  Farewell  crowd — an'  they  was  a-huntin' 
for  yuh.  It  was  them  told  us  about  the  reward." 

"  Where'd  yuh  meet  'em?"  questioned  Loudon. 

"Down  on  the  Lazy.     They  was  ridin'  east." 

"Headin'  for  the  Cross-in-a-box  likely." 

"Dunno  as  they'll  go  that  far.  From  what  they  said  I 
guess  now  they  think  yo're  either  on  this  range  or  holin'  out 
in  the  Fryin'  Pans.  Red  asked  'em  didn't  they  need  some 
more  men — said  six  gents  didn't  seem  none  too  plenteous  for 
the  job.  They  got  kind  o '  mad,  but  they  managed  to  hawg- 
tie  their  tempers.  I  dunno  why." 

"No,  yuh  don't!"  chuckled  Red  Kane.  "Why,  gents, 
Hock  had  his  Winchester  across  his  horn  an '  was  a-coverin ' 
'em  the  whole  time.  Quarrelsome  feller,  that  Hock.  Just 
as  soon  shoot  yuh  as  say  howdy." 

237 


238  PARADISE  BEND 

"I  never  did  like  that  Farewell  gang,"  Heckling  explained, 
shamefacedly.  "They  always  remind  me  o'  kyotes,  rattlers, 
an'  such.  Anyway,  Tom,  the  outfit's  with  yuh.  If  them 
fellers  jump  yuh,  Farewell  will  see  some  fun.  Speakin'  o* 
fun,  Farewell  ain't  knucklin'  to  Block  any  too  much  lately. 
Mike  Flynn  an '  Buck  Simpson  had  words  the  other  day,  an* 
Buck  got  fourteen  buckshot  in  his  leg.  He  was  lucky  he 
didn't  lose  his  foot.  Buck  bein'  a  plumb  favouryte  o'  the 
sheriff,  Block  come  bulgin*  down  to  arrest  Mike,  an'  Mike  he 
stood  off  the  sheriff  with  a  Winchester,  an*  cussed  him  to 
hellenback,  an*  the  sheriff  didn't  arrest  him.  Now  Mike's 
friends  take  turns  livin'  with  him,  an '  keepin '  guard  while  he 
sleeps.  Dunno  how  it'll  end.  Be  a  blowoff  mighty  soon,  I 
guess." 

"  You  bet,"  concurred  Loudon.  "  Seen  anythin '  o '  Marvin 
or  Rudd  lately?" 

"Seen  Rudd  down  near  Box  Hill  two  days  ago.  He  was 
over  on  our  side  the  creek.  Said  he  was  huntin'  strays.  I 
knowed  he  was  lyin',  an '  I  watched  him  from  the  top  o '  Box 
Hill  till  he  went  back." 

"Yeah,"  cried  Red  Kane,  busy  at  the  cooking-fire,  "Hock 
come  in  that  night  a-cussin'  an'  a-swearin'  'cause  Rudd 
hadn't  given  him  a  chance  to  finish  what  Cap'n  Burr  started. 
Talked  real  brutal  'bout  Rudd,  Hock  did.  Me,  I  like  the  88 
outfit.  They're  real  gentle  little  woolly  lambs,  an '  some  day 
when  I  ain't  got  nothin '  else  to  do  I'm  goin '  over  there  with  a 
rifle  an'  make  'em  a  heap  gentler." 

"Yuh'll  have  the  chance  before  a  great  while,"  Loudon  said, 
seriously. 

"Is  it  them  cows  we  lost?"  inquired  Hockling,  eagerly. 

"  I  can't  tell  yuh  yet  awhile,"  replied  Loudon.  "  Just  keep 
yore  mouths  shut  an '  be  ready." 

"Them's  the  pleasantest  words  I've  heard  in  years,"  stated 
Red  Kane.  "  Grub  pile,  folks.  Come  an '  get  it." 

Loudon  and  Laguerre  spent  the  night  at  the  line-camp. 
In  the  morning  they  recrossed  the  creek.  They  rode  with 
Winchesters  across  their  laps,  and  they  took  advantage  of 
every  bit  of  cover  the  broken  country  afforded.  Occasionally 


UNDER  THE  RIDGE  239 

they  halted,  and  one  or  the  other  went  forward  on  foot  and 
spied  out  from  ridge-crest  or  knoll-top  the  line  of  advance. 

By  ten  o'clock  they  had  worked  south  to  the  foot  of  a 
plateau-like  ridge  opposite  Box  Hill  and  about  a  mile  from  the 
creek.  For  the  tenth  time  that  morning  London  dismounted. 
He  sweated  up  the  incline,  panted  across  the  broad  flat  top 
of  the  ridge,  and  plumped  himself  down  behind  an  outcrop  on 
the  edge  of  the  reverse  slope.  He  took  off  his  hat,  poked  his 
head  past  the  ragged  corner  of  the  rock,  and  peered  down  into 
a  wide-bottomed  draw. 

What  he  saw  was  sufficiently  amazing.  Halfway  down 
the  reverse  slope,  where  a  stunted  pine  grew  beside  a  boulder, 
a  man  lay  on  his  stomach.  Loudon  could  see  only  his  legs. 
The  branches  of  the  pine  concealed  the  upper  half  of  his  body. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  slope,  outlined  against  a  thicket  of  red 
sumac,  Kate  Saltoun,  mounted  on  a  black  horse,  was  talking 
to  the  puncher  Rudd. 

The  duplicity  of  woman!  London's  first  thought  was  that 
Kate  was  at  her  old-time  tricks — flirting  again.  «  His  second 
was  that  she  was  aiding  the  88  in  their  nefarious  practices. 

What  did  it  mean?  Loudon,  his  eyes  hard  as  gray  flint, 
edged  noiselessly  backward,  and  sat  up  behind  the  outcrop. 
He  signalled  Laguerre  by  placing  two  fingers  on  his  lips, 
pointing  over  his  shoulder,  and  holding  up  one  finger  twice. 

Then  Loudon  flattened  his  body  at  the  corner  of  the  out 
crop,  shoved  his  rule  forward,  and  covered  Rudd.  Fore 
finger  on  trigger^  thumb  ready  to  cock  the  hammer,  he  waited. 

He  could  not  hear  what  the  two  by  the  sumac  bushes  were 
saying.  They  were  fully  a  hundred  yards  distant.  But  it 
was  evident  by  the  way  Kate  leaned  forward  and  tapped  her 
saddle-horn  that  she  was  very  much  in  earnest.  Frequently 
Rudd  shook  his  head. 

Loudon  heard  a  faint  rustle  at  his  side.  He  turned  his 
head.  Laguerre  was  crawling  into  position. 

"Dunno  who  that  sport  under  the  pine  is,"  whispered  Lou 
don.  "You  take  him  anyhow,  an*  I'll  take  Rudd.  Get 
'em  both  without  a  shot.  It's  a  cinch." 

Suddenly,  after  a  decidedly  emphatic  shake  of  Rudd's  head, 


240  PARADISE  BEND 

Kate's  figure  straightened,  and  she  struck  her  saddle-horn  a 
sharp  blow  with  the  flat  of  her  hand.  It  was  an  action  char 
acteristic  of  Kate.  She  always  employed  it  when  annoyed. 

Loudon  smiled  grimly.  With  an  impatient  tug  Kate 
pulled  a  white  object  from  her  saddle-pocket  and  flung  it  at 
Rudd.  Then  she  wheeled  her  horse  on  his  hindlegs,  jumped 
him  ahead,  and  set  off  at  a  tearing  run. 

Rudd  stooped  to  pick  up  the  fallen  white  object,  and  Lou 
don  opened  his  mouth  to  bawl  a  command  when  he  was  fore 
stalled  by  the  watcher  under  the  pine. 

"Hands  up?"  came  in  the  unmistakable  bellow  of  Marvin, 
the  88  range-boss. 

Rudd  stood  up,  his  hands  above  his  head.  The  white 
object  lay  at  his  feet.  Kate  had  halted  her  horse  at  Marvin's 
shout.  She  turned  in  her  saddle  and  looked  back. 

"Keep  a-goin*,  lady!"  yelled  Marvin.  "You'ye  done 
enough,  you  have!  Now  you  wander,  an'  be  quick  about 
it!" 

"Shut  up,  Marvin!"  called  Loudon.  "You  always  did 
talk  too  much!  Keep  yore  paws  up,  Rudd!  This  ain't 
no  thin'  like  a  rescue  for  yuh!" 

"You  know-dat  feller  under  de  tree?"  demanded  Laguerre. 

"Not  the  way  you  mean,  Telescope,"  replied  Loudon, 
without  removing  his  eyes  from  Rudd.  "He's  one  o'  Blake- 
ly's  gang — their  range-boss." 

"Geet  up  on  you  han's  un  knees,  you  feller,"  instantly 
ordered  Laguerre,  "un  move  back  slow." 

Loudon  and  Laguerre,  covering  their  men,  moved  down 
the  slope.  The  88  puncher  took  his  defeat  well..  The  light- 
blue  eyes  above  the  snub  nose  met  London's  stare  serenely. 

"Yo're  a  whizzer,"  observed  Rudd.  "I  wouldn't  play 
poker  with  yuh  for  a  clay  farm  in  Arkinsaw.  Yo're  too 
lucky." 

"  It's  a  habit  I've  got,"  said  Loudon.  "  Now  if  I  was  you, 
Rudd,  I'd  lower  my  left  hand  nice  an'  easy,  an'  I'd  sort  o' 
work  my  gun-belt  down  till  it  slid  over  my  knees,  an'  I  could 
step  out  of  it." 

Rudd  complied  with  this  suggestion,  and  obeyed  London's 


UNDER  THE  RIDGE  241 

request  that  he  step  rearward  a  few  feet  and  turn  his  back. 
Loudon  laid  down  his  rifle  and  drew  his  six-shooter.  With 
his  left  hand  he  scooped  the  belt  to  one  side  and  picked  up  the 
white  object.  His  eyes  told  him  that  it  was  a  lady's  knotted 
handkerchief,  and  his  fingers  that  three  twenty-dollar  gold 
pieces  were  contained  therein.  Loudon  could  not  have  been 
more  astounded  if  Rudd  had  suddenly  sprouted  two  horns 
and  a  tail. 

"Good-bye  one  small  drunk  an'  a  new  saddle,"  remarked 
Rudd,  hearing  the  clinking  of  the  gold. 

"You sneak!"  snarled  Marvin,  approaching  under  con 
voy  of  Laguerre.  "  I  wondered  what  yuh  wanted  yore  money 
for  this  mornin'.  I've  been  watchin'  yuh  for  the  last  two 
weeks.  I  seen  yuh  a-comin'  back  from  the  Bar  S  range  three 
days  ago.  Tryin'  to  sell  us  out,  huh?" 

"Yo're  a  liar,"  retorted  Rudd,  calmly.  "I  ain't  tellin' 
nothin'  I  know.  Not  that  I  know  nothin'  nohow." 

"By ,  gents!"  exclaimed  Marvin.  "I  ask  yuh  as  a  fa 
vour  to  just  gimme  ten  minutes  barehanded  with  that  tin 
horn!  Yuh  can  do  what  you  like  with  me  after." 

"We  will  anyway,"  said. Loudon. 

"  What  is  this — a  se  win 'circle?  "Rudd  inquired,  contemptu 
ously.  "I'd  as  soon  die  o'  snakebite  as  be  talked  to  death." 

"Well,  if  I  was  you,  Tom  Loudon,"  sneered  Marvin,  "I'd 
try  to  fincl  out  just  what  Rudd  means  by  meetin'  Old  Salt's 
girl.  There  may  be  more  to  it  than " 

"Come  round  in  front  here,  Marvin,"  commanded  Loudon. 
"Come  all  the  way  round.  That's  it.  Telescope,  will  yuh 
kindly  keep  an  eye  on  the  other  party?  Now,  Marvin,  get 
down  on  yore  knees.  Down,  yuh  yellow  pup!  Yo're  a- 
crowdin'  the  Gates  Ajar  so  close  yuh  can  hear  'em  creak. 
Marvin,  say,  'I'm  ashamed  o'  myself,  an'  I  take  it  back,  an' 
I  didn't  mean  nothin'  nohow.'  Say  it  out  real  loud.'" 

Slowly,  his  face  a  mask  of  venomous  hate,  Marvin  re 
peated  the  words. 

"Get  up,  an'  face  round,"  continued  Loudon.  "No,  not 
so  close  to  Rudd.  About  five  yards  to  his  right,  so  yuh  won't 
be  tempted." 


242  PARADISE  BEND 

For  the  past  two  minutes  Loudon  had  been  aware  of  Kate's 
approach.  But  he  did  not  turn  his  head  even  when  she  halted 
her  horse  almost  beside  him. 

"What  do  you  intend  doing  with  these  men,  Tom?'*  she 
inquired,  a  perceptible  pause  between  the  last  two  words  of 
the  sentence. 

"Take  'em  to  the  Cross-in-a-box,"  replied  Loudon,  without 
looking  at  her.  "They'll  hang — in  time." 

"  May  I  have  a  few  words  alone  with  you?  " 

"Shore,  ma'am,  shore.  I  guess  two  won't  be  too  many 
to  watch,  Telescope." 

He  walked  at  Kate's  stirrup  till  they  were  out  of  earshot. 
Then  he  turned  and  looked  up  into  her  face  in  silence.  She 
gazed  at  him  with  a  curious,  questioning  look  in  her  black 
eyes. 

She  had  become  thinner  since  their  last  meeting.  But  her 
lips  were  as  red  as  ever.  She  had  lost  none  of  her  beauty. 
Loudon  raised  his  hand.  In  the  open  palm  was  the  knotted 
bit  of  linen  containing  the  gold  pieces. 

"Here's  yore  handkerchief,"  said  he. 

Kate  made  no  move  to  take  it.  Instead,  she  continued  to 
look  at  him,  a  crooked  little  smile  on  her  lips.  Loudon  was 
the  first  to  lower  his  gaze.  His  arm  dropped  to  his  side. 

"You  are  trying  to  be  disagreeable,"  said  Kate,  "and  you 
succeed  in  being  foolish.  The  money  belongs  to  that  man. 
He  earned  it,  and  it's  his." 

"It  won't  do  him  any  good,"  muttered  Loudon. 

"That  depends  on  how  he  spends  it." 

"He'll  never  live  to  spend  it." 

"You're  mistaken.     You  will  let  him  go." 

"That's  likely,  that  is!" 

"It's  quite  likely.  In  fact,  it's  a  certainty.  You  will  let 
Rudd  go." 

"Djuh  know  he's  a  hoss  thief?  Do  yuh?  I've  got  proof . 
He's  one  o'  the  bunch  stole  Scotty's  hosses.  An'  yuh  want 
me  to  let  him  go?" 

"I  want  you  to  let  him  go." 

"Well,  I  won't." 


UNDER  THE  RIDGE  243 

"Listen,  Tom,  listen  to  me,  please.  And  take  off  that 
horrid,  stubborn  expression.  You  look  exactly  like  a  sulky 
child.  There,  that's  much  better.  Don't  smile  if  it  hurts 
you,  grumpy.  There,  I  knew  it  would  come.  Oh,  it's  gone 
again.  Well,  anyhow,  you  haven't  forgotten  how  to  smile, 
and  that's  a  blessing." 

"I  hate  to  hurry  yuh,  but " 

"  I  know  what  a  bore  it  is  to  be  compelled  to  listen  to  me, 
but  you'll  have  to  endure  the  ordeal.  Listen,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  me  Rudd  wouldn't  have  been  here  to-day,  and  you 
wouldn't  have  caught  him." 

"We'd  have  caught  him  later." 

"Perhaps  you  wouldn't.  At  any  rate,  he'd  probably  have 
had  a  chance  to  make  a  fight.  As  it  is,  he  was  caught  like  a 
rat  in  a  trap.  And  if  it  wasn't  for  me  he  wouldn't  be  in  the 
trap." 

"Marvin  would  'a'  got  him  if  we  didn't." 

"Marvin  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  The  fact  remains 
that  I  am  to  blame  for  the  capture  of  Rudd." 

"We're  much  obliged  to  yuh." 

"That  isn't  worthy  of  you,  Tom." 

"  I  beg  yore  pardon.     I  was  too  quick." 

"  Granted.  You  were.  Since  I  am  to  blame,  I  can  do  no 
less  than  see  that  he  goes  free." 

"It's  no  use  a-talkin'.     He  don't  go  free." 

"  He  will — if  I  have  to  keep  you  here  till  doomsday.  Listen, 
did  you  remark  the  sublime  manner  in  which  Marvin  jumped 
at  conclusions?  You  did.  Exactly." 

"I  knowed  he  was  wrong,  o'  course." 

"Oh,  you  did.     How  did  you  know?" 

"Well— I— knowed  you." 

To  London's  astonishment  Kate  burst  into  shrill  laughter. 

"For  this  certificate  of  good  character  I  thank  you,"  said 
she,  wiping  her  eyes.  "Heavens,  if  you  hadn't  made  me 
laugh  I'd  have  gone  off  into  hysterics !  WTiat  odd  minds  you 
men  have.  Upon  my  word,  I — but  no  matter.  Marvin  has 
no  grounds  for  saying  that  Rudd  tried  to  sell  out  the  88.  I 
ought  to  know.  I  did  my  best  to  pump  him,  but  I  couldn't 


244  PARADISE  BEND 

get  a  word  out  of  him.  He  is  a  clam.  I  worked  so  hard,  too. 
It  made  me  frightfully  angry." 

"So  that  was  it!  I  know  yuh  was  mad  about  somethin' 
when  yuh  banged  yore  horn  thataway  an*  throwed  that 
handkerchief  at  him.  But — but — say,  what  was  the  money 
for,  anyhow?" 

"That  I  cannot  tell  you.  I  am  endeavouring  at  the  present 
moment  to  point  out  the  difference  between  Marvin  and 
Rudd.  Marvin  thought — various  things,  while  Rudd,  with 
good  reason  for  believing  that  I  had  betrayed  him — it  really 
had  a  suspicious  look  about  it,  you  know — uttered  no  word 
of  reproach." 

"Well,  just  'cause  he  acts  like  a  white  man,  is  that  any 
reason  for  lettin'  him  go?" 

"It  is  my  reason  for  standing  by  him." 

"Well,  you've  stood  by  him.  Yuh  can't  do  more.  An5  it 
ain't  done  a  bit  of  good." 

"If  you  knew  what  he  did  you'd  let  him  go." 

"I  do  know.     That's  why  I'm  freezin'  to  him." 

"If  you  knew  what  he  did  for — for  me,"  patiently  persisted 
Kate,  "you'd  let  him  go." 

"What  did  he  do  for  you?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you.     Take  my  word  for  it,  can't  you?  " 

"How  can  I?    He's  a  hoss  thief." 

"  Listen,  he  was  leaving  this  country.  He's  quitting  the  88 
for  good.  If  he  had  gotten  away  he'd  never  have  troubled 
again  the  Lazy  or  Dogsoldier  ranches.  What,  then,  will  you 
gain  by  hanging  him?" 

"  It's  the  law,  Kate — the  law  of  the  range.     You  know  that." 

"Law!  Piecrust!  If  I  told  you  that  Rudd  had  saved 
my  life  at  the  risk  of  his  own  would  you  let  him  go?  " 

"An'  he  took  money  for  that?"  Disgust  was  rampant  in 
Loudon's  tone. 

"The  taking  part  is  neither  here  nor  there.  Remains  the 
fact  of  his  saving  my  life — at  the  risk  of  his  own,  remember. 
Now  will  you  let  him  go?  Oh,  it's  no  use  asking  him,"  she 
added,  quickly,  as  Loudon  half  turned.  "He'd  probably 
deny  it." 


UNDER  THE  RIDGE  245 

"Oh,  what's  the  use,  Kate?"  exclaimed  Loudon,  im 
patiently.  "If  Rudd  had  stolen  my  hoss  or  done  somethin' 
special  to  me  I'd  let  him  go  to  oblige  yuh,  but  it's  Scotty  has 
the  say.  His  hosses  was  stole.  An*  I'm  workin'  for  Scotty. 
Can't  yuh  see  how  it  is?" 

"I  see  that  you  intend  to  deny  my  request,"  Kate  said, 
her  black  eyes  fixed  unwaveringly  on  Loudon's  gray  ones. 

"I've  got  to." 

"Very  well.  But  suppose  we  have  Rudd  come  here  a 
moment.  I'd  like  you  to  hear  what  he  has  to  say.  Oh,  I'll 
make  him  talk." 

"But " 

"Good  heavens!  You're  not  going  to  refuse  me  this  little 
favour,  are  you?  Rudd's  a  prisoner^  He  can't  get  away. 
Call  him  over,  and  afterward  if  you  intend  to  hold  him  there's 
nothing  to  prevent  you." 

Loudon  shouted  to  Laguerre.  Rudd,  his  arms  still  elevated, 
walked  toward  them  slowly.  Loudon  kept  him  covered. 
Kate  dismounted,  leaving  the  reins  on  her  horse's  neck. 

"Tom,"  said  she,  "give  me  that  money,  please.  I'd  like 
to  give  it  to  him  myself." 

Loudon  handed  her  the  handkerchief.  Kate  took  it  and 
leaned  against  her  horse's  shoulder.  One  arm  was  flung 
across  the  saddle.  Rudd  halted  in  front  of  Loudon.  Kate, 
holding  the  horse  by  the  bit,  stepped  forward  and  stood  be 
side  Loudon. 

"Here  he  is,"  said  Loudon.     "What " 

With  surprising  agility  Kate  whirled,  seized  Loudon's  gun 
hand  in  a  desperate  grip  and  jammed  her  thumb  down  be 
tween  the  hammer  and  the  firing-pin.  Her  left  arm  encircled 
his  waist,  and  her  head  was  twisted  sidewise  under  his  chin. 

"Run!"  she  panted.  "My  horse!  The  money's  in  the 
saddle-pocket!" 

Kate  hardly  needed  to  speak.  Rudd  had  leaped  the  in 
stant  Loudon's  six-shooter  was  deflected.  Before  the  word 
"saddle-pocket"  had  passed  Kate's  lips  Rudd  was  in  the 
black's  saddle,  and  the  animal  was  thundering  away  at  a 
furious  gallop. 


246  PARADISE  BEND 

Loudon,  straining  to  break  the  girl's  hold  without  hurting 
her,  failed  lamentably.  The  two  struggling  figures  swayed  to 
and  fro,  Kate,  her  teeth  set,  hanging  on  like  a  bulldog.  Lou- 
don's  muscles  suddenly  relaxed. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  "he's  out  o'  range." 

Kate  loosened  her  hold  on  his  waist  and  endeavoured  to 
draw  back.  But  her  right  hand  was  fast. 

"You  pulled  the  trigger,  Tom,"  said  she,  calmly.  "My 
thumb's  caught." 

Loudon  raised  the  hammer,  and  the  hand  fell  away.  The 
tender  flesh  of  the  thumb  was  cruelly  torn.  The  blood  drip 
ped  on  the  grass.  Loudon  bolstered  his  six-shooter. 

"  Gimme  yore  hand,"  ordered  Loudon,  roughly. 

He  lifted  her  hand,  placed  her  thumb  to  his  lips,  and  sucked 
the  wound  clean.  Kate  watched  him  in  silence.  When  the 
edges  of  the  torn  flesh  were  white  and  puckery  Loudon  cut 
away  part  of  Kate's  sleeve  and  made  a  bandage  of  the  fabric. 

"  Guess  yuh'll  be  all  right  now,"  he  said.  "  But  yuh  hadn't 
ought  to  'a'  done  a  fool  trick  like  that.  Yuh  might  'a'  got 
lockjaw." 

"Thank  you,"  Kate  said,  white-lipped.  ,  "Why— why  don't 
you  give  me  fits  for — for  helping  him  to  escape?  " 

"It's  done,"  Loudon  replied,  simply.  "Yuh  had  yore  rea 
sons,  I  guess." 

"  Yes,  I  had  my  reasons."     Kate's  tone  was  lifeless. 

Without  another  word  they  walked  back  to  where  Laguerre 
stood  beside  the  sumac  bushes.  The  half-breed's  face  was 
impassive,  but  there  was  a  slight  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he  threw 
a  quick  look  at  Kate. 

"You'll  be  leavin'  us  now,  Miss  Saltoun,"  observed  Lou 
don,  coldly.  "  I'll  get  yuh  Rudd's  pony." 

Silently  he  led  forward  Rudd's  rawboned  cayuse  and  held 
him  while  Kate  mounted.  She  settled  her  feet  in  the  stirrups 
and  picked  up  the  reins.  She  met  Loudon's  gaze  bravely, 
but  her  eyes  were  shining  with  unshed  tears.  Kate  slid  her 
tongue  across  the  edges  of  her  dry  lips.  She  tried  to  speak, 
but  could  not.  She  bowed  her  head  and  touched  her  horse 
with  the  spur. 


UNDER  THE  RIDGE  247 

"Where's  yore  hoss,  Marvin?"  inquired  Loudon. 

"Over  behind  the  ridge  in  a  gully,"  replied  Marvin.  "What 
yuh  goin'  to  do  with  me?" 

"Hang  yuh — in  time" 

"  What  for?  " 

"For  bein'  too  active,  Marvin,  an*  for  pickin'  the  wrong 
friends.  Yuh  see,  Marvin,  we've  caught  Bill  Archer  an'  the 
Maxson  boys,  an'  the  hosses  are  waiting'  for  Scotty  in  Cram 
an'  Docket's  corrals  in  Piegan  City.  Shorty  Simms  has 
cashed.  Rudd's  wandered,  an'  now  we've  caught  you.  We're 
sort  o'  whittlin'  yuh  down  like.  When  Scotty  comes  we'll  get 
the  rest  o'  yuh.  Yuh  see,  Marvin,  yuh  hadn't  ought  to  'a' 
used  Bill  Archer.  He  talks  when  he's  drunk." 

To  this  statement  Marvin  immediately  attributed  the  most 
sinister  meaning  even  as  Loudon  intended  he  should.  Wherein 
he  had  failed  with  Archer,  Loudon  hoped  to  succeed  with 
Marvin.  The  latter,  given  time  to  consider  impending  death 
might,  if  promised  immunity,  talk  freely. 

"Where  we  goin'  now?"  Marvin  inquired,  uneasily. 

"To  the  Cross-in-a-box,"  replied  Loudon,  strapping  on 
Rudd's  cartridge-belt — Laguerre  was  wearing  Marvin's.  "  I 
want  Jack  Richie  to  see  yuh.  An'  don't  get  talkative  about 
how  Rudd  got  away.  I  tell  yuh  flat  if  yuh  open  yore  mouth 
about  that  .lady  yuh'll  be  committin'  suicide." 

"Dat-ees  right,"  declared  Laguerre,  staring  fixedly  at  the 
range-boss.  "Only  you  un  Rudd  was  here.  I  see  nobody 
else." 

"You  hear,  Marvin,"  Loudon  said,  grimly.  "Now  stick 
yore  hands  behind  yore  back.  I'm  goin'  to  tie  'em  up." 

Marvin  swore — and  obeyed. 

"Don't  tie  'em  so  tight,"  he  entreated. 

"  Yo're  too  slippery  to  take  chances  on,"  retorted  London. 
"Seen  the  sheriff  lately?" 

"Ain't  seen  him  for  a  month." 

"Yo're  a  cheerful  liar.  Still  it  don't  matter  much.  He'll 
be  gathered  in  with  the  rest  o'  you  murderers  when  the  time 
comes.  They  say  hangin's  an  easy  death — like  drownin'. 
Djever  think  of  it,  Marvin?" 


248  PAKADISE  BEND 

That  luckless  wight  swore  again.  Black  gloom  rode  his 
soul. 

"All  set,"  announced  Loudon.     "C'mon." 

The  three  plodded  up  the  slope  of  the  ridge.  When  Lou- 
don's  head  rose  above  the  crest  he  saw  to  his  intense  disgust 
that  six  horsemen  were  picturesquely  grouped  about  Brown 
Jug  and  the  gray.  The  six  were  staring  in  various  directions. 
Two  were  gazing  directly  at  the  three  on  the  ridge.  Loudon 
and  Laguerre,  forgetting  their  charge  for  the  moment,  flung 
themselves  down. 

Promptly  the  six  men  tumbled  out  of  their  saddles  and  be 
gan  to  work  their  Winchesters.  Loudon,  aiming  with  care, 
sent  an  accurate  bullet  through  a  man's  leg.  Laguerre 
dropped  a  horse. 

Then  Loudon,  mindful  of  the  prisoner,  looked  over  his 
shoulder.  Marvin,  running  like  a  frightened  goat,  was  half 
way  to  the  shelter  of  the  sumacs. 

"  Blow out  of  'em,  Telescope ! "  cried  Loudon.  "  I  got 

to  get  Marvin!" 

He  rolled  a  few  yards  down  the  slope  and  knelt  on  one  knee. 
He  dropped  two  bullets  in  quick  succession  in  front  of  Mar 
vin's  flying  feet. 

" C'mon  back!"  he  shouted.  "The  next  one  goes  plumb 
centre!" 

Marvin  halted.  He  returned  slowly.  Loudon,  watching 
him,  became  aware  that  Laguerre's  rifle  was  silent.  He 
glanced  quickly  around.  Laguerre,  with  his  skinning-knife, 
was  picking  frantically  at  a  jammed  cartridge.  At  his  feet 
lay  Marvin's  rifle,  the  lever  half  down,  and  the  bullet  end  of 
a  cartridge  protruding  from  the  breech.  Both  rifles  had 
jammed  at  the  crucial  moment. 

"Take  mine,"  said  Loudon,  and  tossed  his  rifle  to  Laguerre. 
"Tsall  right,  Marvin,"  he  continued  in  a  shout,  "Keep 
a-comin'.  I  can  reach  yuh  with  a  Colt!  What  yuh  cussin* 
about,  Telescope?  Mine  jam,  too?" 

"Dem  feller  pull  out,"  growled  Laguerre.  "While  I  was 
try  for  feex  my  Winchestair  dey  spleet  un  go  two  way.  Dey 
behin'  de  nex'  heel  now.  Dey  tak'  our  pony  too, *em." 


UNDER  THE  RIDGE  249 

"Set  us  afoot,  huh?  That's  nice.  Couldn't  have  a  better 
place  to  surround  us  in,  neither.  No  cover  this  side.  Let's 
cross  the  draw.  There's  somethin'  that  looks  like  rocks  over 
there." 

Driving  Marvin  ahead  of  them  they  crossed  the  draw  at  a 
brisk  trot  and  climbed  the  opposite  slope.  Loudon  had  not 
been  mistaken.  There  were  rocks  on  the  ground  beyond. 
From  the  edge  of  the  draw  the  land  fell  away  in  a  three-mile 
sweep  to  the  foot  of  a  low  hill.  Loudon  grinned. 

"They  can't  Injun  up  on  us  from  this  side,"  he  said.  "We'll 
stand  'em  off  all  right." 

Swiftly  they  filled  in  with  rocks  the  space  between  two  fair- 
sized  boulders.  Then  they  tied  the  wretched  Marvin's  ankles 
and  rolled  him  over  on  his  face  behind  their  tiny  breastwork. 

"I  don't  think  any  lead'll  come  through,"  said  Loudon, 
cheerfully.  "It  looks  pretty  solid.  But  it  would  shore 
be  a  joke  if  one  o'  yore  friend's  bullets  should  sift  through 
yuh,  Marvin,  now  wouldn't  it?" 

Lea'ving  Marvin  to  discover,  if  Providence  so  willed,  the 
point  of  the  joke,  Loudon  picked  up  his  rifle  and  lay  down 
behind  the  smallest  boulder.  Laguerre,  lying  on  his  side, 
was  working  at  his  jammed  breech  action.  He  worried  the 
shell  out  at  last,  and  took  his  place. 

Loudon  saw  Laguerre  put  a  small  pebble  in  his  mouth,  and 
he  frowned.  Not  till  then  had  he  realized  that  he  was  thirsty. 
He  followed  Laguerre's  example.  Pack-saddle  Creek  was 
close  by,  and  it  might  as  well  have  been  distant  a  hundred 
miles.  The  thought  made  Loudon  twice  as  thirsty,  in  spite 
of  the  pebble  rolling  under  his  tongue.  Far  down  the  draw, 
on  London's  side  of  the  breastwork,  two  riders  appeared. 

"Two  of  'em  in  sight,  Telescope,"  said  Loudon.  "See 
any?" 

"Me,  no.     What  dey  do,  dem  two?" 

"They're  crossin'  the  draw.  Now  they're  climbin'  up. 
They  think  we're  still  where  we  was.  Hope  they  come  right 
along." 

The  two  riders  galloped  toward  the  boulders.  Loudon 
and  Laguerre,  flattening  their  bodies,  squeezed  close  to  the 


250  PARADISE  BEND 

rock.  When  the  galloping  pair  were  three  quarters  of  a  mile 
distant  they  halted. 

"They  don't  just  like  the  looks  o'  these  rocks,"  observed 
Loudon.  "  Well,  they  give  us  credit  o'  havin'  sense,  anyway." 

The  two  horsemen  began  to  circle.  Loudon  settled  himself 
and  squinted  along  his  sights.  His  finger  dragged  on  the 
trigger.  It  was  a  long  shot,  and  he  missed.  The  two  men 
immediately  separated.  One  rode  back  over  the  way  they 
had  come.  The  other  galloped  out  a  mile  and  a  half,  then 
turned  and  rode  parallel  to  the  draw.  Opposite  the  rear  of 
the  breastwork  he  halted. 

"How  they  do  think  of  every  thin',"  remarked  Loudon. 
"But  if  they  guess  we  can't  get  away  to-night  they  can  guess 
again.  I  dunno  what  we'll  do  with  Marvin.  Yo're  puttin* 
us  to  a  heap  o'  trouble,  you  are,  Mister  Range-Boss.  Say, 
while  I  think  of  it,  have  yuh  branded  any  more  Crossed  Dumb 
bell  cows?" 

Marvin  was  silent.     The  mocking  voice  continued: 

"That  was  shore  well  thought  of,  Marvin,  but  yuh  was 
whirlin'  too  wide  a  loop.  Instead  o'  tryin'  to  make  me  out  a 
rustler  yuh'd  ought  to  'a'  shot  me  in  the  back  like  yuh  did 
the  Sheriff  o'  Sunset." 

"I  didn't  kill  him,"  grunted  the  stung  Marvin. 

"I  know  yuh  didn't.  When  I  said  you  I  meant  yore  outfit. 
Shorty  Simms  pulled  the  trigger." 

"Nothin'  to  do  with  me." 

"  Maybe  not.     We'll  see." 

"  Yuh  can't  prove  nothinV 

"Keep  on  a-thinkin'  so  if  it  helps  yuh  any.  Yuh'd  ought 
to  know,  Marvin,  that  in  any  gang  o'  thieves  there's  always 
one  squealer,  sometimes  two.  In  this  case,  one's  enough, 
but  we  don't  object  to  another." 

"Oh, !"  grunted  Marvin.     "Yuh  give  me  a  pain." 

"I  expect.  Yuh  see,  Marvin,  a  while  back  yuh  accused 
Rudd  o'  sellin'  yuh  out.  Them  words  have  a  right  innocent 
sound,  ain't  they  now?  Shore  they  have.  Why,  yuh  blind 
fool,  do  yuh  s'pose  we'd  be  a-freezin*  to  yuh  this  way  if  we 
didn't  have  yuh  dead  to  rights?" 


UNDER  THE  RIDGE  251 

Marvin  lay  very  still.     He  almost  appeared  not  to  breathe. 

"  Yuh  ain't  got  out  o'  this  hole  yet,"  he  muttered. 

"We  will,  don't  yuh  worry  none  about  that.  An'  we'll 
take  yuh  with  us — wherever  we  go.  Think  it  all  over,  Mar 
vin.  I  may  have  something'  to  say  to  yuh  later." 

Crack  I  A  rifle  spoke  on  the  opposite  ridge,  and  a  bullet 
glanced  off  London's  boulder  with  a  discordant  whistle. 
Crack  I  Crack  I  Crack  I  Long  45-90  bullets  struck  the  breast 
work  with  sharp  splintering  sounds,  or  ripped  overhead,  hum 
ming  shrilly. 

"Let's  work  the  old  game  on  'em,"  suggested  Loudon. 
"There's  room  for  two  my  side." 

Laguerre  crawled  over  and  lay  down  beside  Loudon.  The 
latter  had  aligned  several  large  rocks  beside  his  boulder.  Be 
tween  these  rocks  the  two  thrust  the  barrels  of  their  rifles. 
One  would  fire.  On  the  heels  of  the  shot  an  opposing  rifle 
would  spit  back.  Then  the  other  would  fire  into  the  gray  of 
the  smoke-cloud. 

It  is  an  old  trick,  well  known  to  the  Indian  fighters.  Lou 
don  and  Laguerre  employed  it  for  half  an  hour.  Then  the 
enemy  bethought  themselves  of  it,  and  Laguerre  returned 
to  the  other  end  of  the  breastwork  with  a  hole  in  his  hat  and 
his  vest  neatly  ripped  down  the  back. 

The  five  deputies  kept  up  a  dropping  fire.  But  the  two 
behind  the  breastwork  replied  infrequently.  Ammunition 
must  be  conserved.  They  anticipated  brisk  work  after  night 
fall.  They  waited,  vigorously  chewing  pebbles,  and  be 
coming  thirstier  by  the  minute.  The  boulders  radiated  heat 
like  ovens. 

The  afternoon  lengthened.  It  was  nearing  five  o'clock 
when  Loudon  suddenly  raised  his  head. 

"Where  was  that  rifle?  "  he  inquired,  sharply. 

"Ovair  yondair — not  on  de  ridge,"  replied  Laguerre. 

"That's  what  I  thought.  Maybe — there  she  goes  again. 
Two  of  'em." 

The  rifles  on  the  ridge  snarled  angrily.  But  no  bullets 
struck  the  breastwork.  The  barking  of  the  deputies'  rifles 
became  irregular,  drifted  southward,  then  ceased  altogether. 


252  PARADISE  BEND 

A  few  minutes  later  five  horsemen  and  a  led  horse  crossed  the 
draw  a  mile  to  the  south. 

"Two  of  'em  hit  bad,"  declared  Loudon. 

"Yuh  bet  yuh,"  said  Laguerre.  "See  dat!  One  of  'em 
tumble  off." 

"They're  gettin'  him  aboard  again.  Takin'  our  bosses 
along,  the  skunks!  There  goes  our  friend  out  yonder." 

The  man  who  had  been  watching  the  rear  of  the  breast 
work  galloped  to  meet  his  friends.  Five  minutes  later  they 
all  disappeared  behind  one  of  the  western  hills. 

"Hey,  you  fellers!"  bawled  a  voice  from  the  shelter  of  the 
ridge  across  the  valley.  "Where  are  yuh,  anyway?" 

"That's  Red  Kane,"  laughed  Loudon,  and  stood  up.  "Here 
we  are!"  he  yelled.  "C'mon  over!  We're  all  right.  Not  a 
scratch!" 

Red  Kane  and  Hockling,  leading  three  horses,  appeared 
on  the  crest  of  the  ridge. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

THE     SMOKE     OF     CONFLICT 

FOUND  him  hid  right  pretty  in  a  gully,"  said  Hock- 
ling,  indicating  the  extra  horse. 
"Yore  hoss,  Marvin?"  queried  Loudon. 

Marvin  nodded  surlily.  He  had  had  his  share  of  the  water 
in  the  rescuers'  canteens,  but  he  was  no  happier. 

"It's  shore  providential,  yore  happenin'  down  this  way," 
said  Loudon.  "We'll  do  as  much  for  you  some  day." 

"Yo're  welcome,  but  it  ain't  none  providential,  Tom," 
denied  Hockling.  "Me  an*  Red  was  fixin*  the  corral  fence 
at  the  camp  when  up  come  Kate  Saltoun  on  the  jump  an* 
says  how  yuh  was  standin'  off  six  men  opposite  Box  Hill. 
'It's  them  deputies ! '  shouts  Red,  an*  ropes  a  hoss  immediate. 
Well,  we  come  along,  the  three  of  us,  an'  that's  all.  It  was 
long  range,  but  I  think  I  drilled  one  deputy.  Red  creased 
one,  too." 

"Yuh  bet  I  did!"  cried  Red  Kane.  "I  seen  his  arm  flop 
when  I  fired." 

"What's  that  about  the  three  o'  yuh  comin'  along?"  said 
Loudon. 

"Why,  Kate,  she  was  with  us.  She  changed  her  saddle  to 
one  of  our  fresh  bosses.  She  wouldn't  quit  nohow  till  she 
heard  yuh  say  yuh  was  all  right.  Then  she  started  off  home. 
Funny,  she  was  ridin'  a  88  pony  when  she  struck  the  line- 
camp." 

"That's  odd,  but  it  don't  matter  none.  I'll— I'll  see  Kate 
later." 

"Shore,"  said  Hockling,  wondering  at  the  lack  of  warmth 
in  London's  tone.  But  Western  etiquette  forbids  the  ques 
tioning  of  another's  motives. 

253 


254  PARADISE  BEND 

"Say,"  remarked  Red,  hastening  to  break  the  awkward 
silence,  "say,  won't  Block  feel  happy  when  he  finds  we've 
done  ventilated  his  deputies?" 

"Yeah,"  replied  London,  "an'  the  funny  part  of  it  is,  they 
ain't  got  no  right  to  arrest  me.  That  warrant  has  been 
pulled  in." 

"Yuh  shore  forgot  to  mention  that  last  night,"  Heckling 
said,  disgustedly.  "Here  Red  an*  ine  have  been  pattin'  our 
selves  on  the  back  for  runnin'  a  blazer  on  the  law.  An'  now, 
come  to  find  out,  them  deputies  was  in  the  wrong,  an'  so  we 
only  give  'em  what  was  comin'  to  'em,  anyway." 

"Well,  you've  got  a  nerve,  you  have!"  exclaimed  the 
indignant  Loudon.  "Do  yuh  think  I'm  goin'  round  dodgin* 
warrants  so  you  two  jiggers  can  run  blazers  on  the  sheriff?  " 

He  made  a  swift  movement. 

" Leggo  my  legs !  "yelled  Heckling.  "  I  got  on  my  new  pants, 
an'  I  don't  want  the  seat  tore  out !  Hey,  yuh  idjit !  Leggo ! " 

When  order  was  restored  and  Hockling  was  tenderly  feeling 
his  precious  trousers,  Loudon  suggested  that  Red,  the  lightest 
man,  take  Marvin's  fresh  pony  and  ride  to  the  line-camp  for 
food  and  two  horses. 

"  Yuh'll  have  yore  work  cut  out,"  said  Red  as  he  mounted, 
"to  ride  them  ponies  bareback.  We  ain't  even  got  a  extra 
bridle." 

"Don't  worry  none,"  Loudon  said.  "We'll  make  bridles 
an'  Injun  surcingles  out  o'  Marvin's  rope,  an'  we'll  toss  for  his 
saddle." 

"How  you  feel,  Tom?"  inquired  Laguerre,  stretched  at 
ease  on  a  cot  in  the  Cross-in-a-box  ranch  house. 

"Whittled  to  the  chin,"  replied  Loudon.  "Which  that 
pony's  ridgepole  could  give  odds  to  a  knife-blade  on  bein' 
sharp.  We  might  'a'  knowed  Marvin  would  win  the  toss.  His 
own  saddle,  too." 

"Eet  ees  de  las'  piece  o'  luck  she  weel  have  for  varree  long 
tarn." 

"I  ain't  so  shore  about  that.  There's  no  real  evidence  to 
show  that  Marvin's  a  rustler.  'Ceptin'  Rudd,  yuh  can't 


THE  SMOKE  OP  CONFLICT  255 

connect  any  of  the  88  outfit  with  the  hoss  stealin'.  I  know 
they  done  it.  I  always  knowed  Sam  Blakely  was  at  the  bot 
tom  of  it,  an'  I  can't  prove  it  yet.  Here's  you  an'  I  rode  from 
hell  to  breakfast  an'  back,  an'  all  we've  got  to  show  for  it  is 
Archer  an'  the  Maxson  boys — an'  the  bosses,  o'  course.  Un 
less  I  find  out  somethin'  more  soon  an'  sudden,  I've  got  to 
take  off  Marvin's  hobbles.  My  bluff  about  Bill  Archer's 
blabbin'  ain't  workin'  with  Marvin.  He's  worried,  an'*  he 
shows  it,  but  he's  standin'  pat.  I  spent  a  solid  hour  with  him 
to-night,  an'  all  he  does  is  cuss  an'  beef  about  what'll  happen 
when  Blakely  finds  out  his  range-boss  has  been  kidnapped. 
It  makes  me  sick!" 
"\Laguerre  nodded  sympathetically. 

1"  Yuh  can't  tell  me,"  continued  Loudon, "  that  them  Marys- 
ville  sports  was  the  only  ones  in  the  hoss-stealin'  deal.  If 
they  was,  then  why  was  Pete  O'Leary  expectin'  Sam  Blakely 
the  day  I  struck  the  Bend,  an'  why  was  Rufe  Cutting  planted 
in  the  cook's  job  at  the  Fly  in' M?  It  all  points — so  far.  An* 
the  rustlin*  o'  the  Bar  S  an'  Cross-in-a-box  cattle — there's 
another  mystery.  Oh,  it's  a  great  life,  this  here  detective 
business ! " 

"Tell  you  w'at,  Tom,"  Laguerre  suggested,  hopefully,  "you 
un  me,  huh,  we  weel  bushwhack  dees  Blak'lee  feller.  W'at 
you  say?" 

"  Can't  be  did,  Telescope.  We've  got  to  get  him  the  right 
way,  so  the  folks  o'  Sunset  an'  Fort  Creek'll  know  just  why 
he  went.  That  goes  for  his  outfit  an'  Block  an'  his  deputies, 
too.  They're  all  in  it  up  to  their  belts.  They've  made  Fort 
Creek  County  what  it  is — a  place  where  a  straight  gent  has 
to  watch  himself  an'  what's  around  him  all  the  time.  Shorty 
Simms  killed  the  Sheriff  o'  Sunset,  but  Blakely  an'  the  88 
made  the  killin'  possible.  Oh,  what's  the  use?  I'm  goin'  to 
sleep. " 

But  Loudon  did  not  go  to  sleep  at  once.  He  had  too  much 
on  his  mind.  From  Blakely  and  the  88  his  perplexed  thoughts 
shifted  to  Kate  Saltoun  and  the  sinful  ease  with  which  she 
had  made  a  fool  of  him;  he  had  trusted  her,  and  she  had  be 
trayed  him.  The  daughter  of  a  ranchman,  she  had  flouted 


256  PARADISE  BEND 

the  law  of  the  range.  Given  the  thief  money,  too.  It  was  al 
most  incredible. 

Idiot  that  he  was,  to  believe  for  an  instant  that  she  loved 
him!  Knowing  her  of  old,  it  served  him  right,  he  told  him 
self.  He  thanked  Heaven  that  he  did  not  love  her,  had  not 
loved  her  since  that  day  in  the  Bar  S  kitchen. 

Quite  naturally  then,  since  he  was  so  absolutely  sure  of 
himself  and  his  emotions,  he  wondered  how  Rudd  had  had 
the  luck  to  save  Kate's  life.  He  wished  that  it  had  been 
himself,  in  order  that  he  might  have  made  some  small  return 
for  services  rendered. 

She  had  done  a  great  deal  for  him  at  the  Bend.  She  had 
simplified  a  most  complex  situation  by  bringing  to  his  as 
sistance  Hockling  and  Red  Kane.  He  undoubtedly  owed  a 
lot  to  Kate.  Nevertheless,  he  assured  himself  that  her  con 
duct  in  the  matter  of  Rudd's  escape  had  squared  the  account. 
Of  course  it  had.  And  he  was  glad  of  it.  *  For,  under 
the  circumstances,  he  would  never  have  to  see  her  again. 
The  Spinning  Sister  heard,  and  smiled — and  London  fell 
asleep. 

"Hey,  Tom!     Wake  up!" 

It  was  Jack  Richie's  voice  that  shouted,  and  it  was  Jack 
Richie's  hand  that  shook  Loudon  awake. 

"Whatsa  matter?"     Loudon  opened  sleepy  eyes. 

"Yore  hoss  is  outside.     Yore  hoss,  Ranger,  an' " 

Jack  Richie  was  almost  overset  by  the  blanket-shedding 
cyclone  that  whirled  out  of  bed  and  through  the  doorway. 
In  front  of  the  ranch  house  stood  Ranger,  surrounded  by 
Richie's  amazed  and  conjecturing  cowboys.  The  horse 
raised  his  wise  head,  cocked  his  ears,  and  nickered  softly  at 
London's  approach. 

"It's  him,"  grinned  Loudon.  "It's  the  little  hoss.  Well, 
fellah,  you  old  tiger-eye!" 

He  rubbed  the  white  spot  on  Ranger's  nose.  The  hoSse 
nipped  his  fingers  with  soft  lips. 

"Found  him  tied  to  the  post  out  back  o'  the  wagon  shed," 
volunteered  the  cook.  "I  thought  I  was  seein'  things." 

"  Funny  he  didn't  whinner,"  said  Loudon. 


THE  SMOKE  OF  CONFLICT  257 

"There  was  a  flour-sack  over  his  head,"  explained  the  cook. 
"Here  it  is." 

"That  don't  tell  me  nothm',"  Loudon  said.  "Everybody 
uses  Triple  X.  An*  that  hackamore  could  be  just  anybody's, 
too.  Whoever  brought  him  shore  walked  in  the  water." 

"It  ain't  likely  possible  now,"  observed  Jack  Richie, 
"that  Rufe  Cutting  could  'a*  got  religion  or  somethin'." 

"It's  possible,  but  it  ain't  likely,"  said  Loudon.  "Well, 
fellah,  c'mon  an'  get  yuh  a  drink,  an'  then  for  the  big  feed. 
Yo're  gone  off  a  good  forty  pounds  since  yuh  quit  me." 

Later,  Loudon,  in  company  with  Laguerre,  visited  the  post 
where  Ranger  had  been  tied.  Laguerre  closely  scrutinized 
the  ground  in  the  vicinity. 

"Hoss  she  been  tied  up  six-seven  hour,"  observed  La 
guerre. 

"It's  'bout  half -past  five  now.  That  makes  it  ten  or  eleven 
when  he  was  brought  in." 

"'Boutdat.  Feller  lead  heem  een.  Hard  to  read  de  sign 
on  de  grass,  but  eet  look  lak  de  feller  not  walk  good  een  hees 
boot — dey  too  beeg,  mabbeso.  Come  'long.  We  weel  see 
w'ere  feller  she  leave  hees  hoss." 

They  followed  the  trail  a  hundred  yards,  and  then  Laguerre 
knelt  down,  his  eyes  searching  the  grass.  He  picked  up  a 
small  stone  and  held  it  up.  The  stone  was  sharp-cornered. 
It  was  stained  a  dark  red. 

"Feller  she  treep  un  fall  on  hees  ban's  un  knees,"  explained 
Laguerre.  "Lef  han'  heet  de  leetle  rock,  un  geet  cut  some. 
Han'  bleed  on  eet." 

Laguerre  rose,  tossed  away  the  stone,  and  proceeded  to 
follow  the  trail.  He  led  the  way  to  a  tall  pine  some  three 
hundred  yards  distant  from  the  ranch  house.  Even  London's 
unpractised  eyes  told  him  that  a  horse  had  stood  beneath  the 
pine. 

"Here  feller  she  climb  een  de  saddle  un  go  'way,"  said 
Laguerre.  "  No  use  follow  de  trail  any  more." 

They  returned  to  the  ranch  house,  Loudon  wondering 
greatly  as  to  the  identity  of  the  mysterious  philanthropist. 
In  Cow  Land  a  stolen  horse  is  not  returned  except  under  com- 


258  PARADISE  BEND 

pulsion.  While  they  were  at  dinner  the  cook  stuck  his  head 
through  the  doorway. 

"Bunch  o'  riders  a-comin'  from  the  north,"  he  announced, 
"an*  they're  a-comin'  some  swift." 

"Scotty !"  exclaimed  Loudon,  and  ran  to  the  window. 

"It  may  be  the  sheriff,"  said  Jack  Richie,  hastening  to 
provide  himself  with  a  Winchester. 

"It's  Scotty,"  Loudon  said.  "I  can  tell  him  a  mile  off. 
He's  wearin*  the  same  shirt,  red  sleeve  an'  all." 

The  horsemen,  some  thirty  men,  rode  up  at  an  easy  lope. 
Besides  Scotty,  Loudon  recognized  Doubleday,  Johnny 
Ramsay,  Chuck  Morgan,  Swing  Tunstall,  Giant  Morton, 
Ragsdale,  and  many  others. 

"He's  brought  the  whole  ranch  an'  half  the  Bend," 
chuckled  Loudon,  and  then  swore  gently,  because  he  suddenly 
remembered  that  there  was  no  evidence  against  Blakely. 

With  thirty  men  the  88  could  be  shown  the  error  of  its  ways 
most  effectually.  And  now  the  thirty  could  not  be  used. 
What  a  waste  of  good  material! 

The  band  of  horsemen,  bawling  greetings  to  the  group  in 
the  doorway,  jingled  to  a  halt.  Loudon  stepped  forward 
and  shook  Scotty's  proffered  hand. 

"Yuh've  sure  done  fine,"  said  Scotty.  "Yuh've  filled  out 
just  what  I  said  'bout  opportunity  with  a  big  O.  I  ain't  for- 
gettin'  it,  neither.  Besides  Rudd  now,  did  yuh  run  across 
any  thin'  touchin'  Sam  Blakely?" 

"Not  a  thing,"  Loudon  replied,  "an  it's  no  use  a-goin'  out 
to  the  88  lookin'  for  Rudd.  He's  sloped.  My  fault  he  got 
away,  too." 

"That's  tough,  but  it  don't  matter  a  heap.  Yuh  found  the 
hosses  an'  three  o'  the  thieves,  anyway." 

"Yeah,  but  they  ain't  enough.  We'd  ought  to  get  'em  all, 
an'  as  far's  I  can  see  there  ain't  no  chance  o'  gettin'  'em  all." 

"Don't  yuh  care.  What  yuh've  done  suits  me.  I'm 
satisfied." 

"I  ain't,"  said  Loudon,  "but  I  s'pose  I've  got  to  be.  It 
makes  me  sick!  Lot  o'  work  gone  for  nothin'.  We  grabbed 
the  88  range-boss  on  the  off-chance  he'd  chatter,  but  he  won't 


THE  SMOKE  OF  CONFLICT  259 

say  a  word.     He's  tied  up  in  Jack  Richie's  storeroom  right 


now." 


"Blakely's  range-boss,  huh?  Well,  yuh  can't  hang  him 
without  proof,  Tom." 

"I  know  that.  Got  to  turn  him  loose,  o'  course.  Did 
yuh  see  anythin'  o'  Block  or  Blakely  or  that  gang  when  yuh 
come  through  Farewell?" 

"We  didn't  strike  Farewell.  We  rode  here  the  shortest 
way.  Why — what's  the  matter?" 

For  London  had  ripped  out  an  amazed  oath. 

"Yore  rope!"  exclaimed  Loudon.  "Where  did  yuh  get 
that  rope?" 

"Oh,  Doubleday  found  it  down  by  the  little  corral  the 
mornin'  after  him  an'  the  boys  rode  in  from  the  Bend — after 
them  hosses  was  stole." 

"  Why  didn't  yuh  tell  me  about  it  then?  That  rope  was  all 
I  needed.  Say,  Johnny,  djever  see  this  rope  before?  " 

Loudon  held  up  the  end  of  the  rope.  The  holdfast  was 
missing,  and  the  end  had  been  lapped  with  many  turns  of 
whip-cord.  Johnny  squinted  at  the  rope's  end.  Jack  Richie 
and  the  others  crowded  in. 

"Yeah,"  said  Johnny  Ramsay,  "now  I  think  of  it,  you  an' 
me  was  in  Mike  Flynn's  store  in  Farewell  when  Sam  Blakely 
bought  him  that  rope  with  the  whip-cord  on  the  end.  That 
was  the  day  you  bought  a  green  necktie.  Shore,  I  remember. 
Blakely  he  asked  Mike  what  that  whip-cord  was,  an'  Mike 
called  it  whippin'." 

"That's  what  he  did,"  declared  Loudon.  "I  noticed  this 
whippin'  jigger  special,  an'  I  can  swear  to  it  on  a  stack  o* 
Bibles  a  mile  high.  It's  the  same  rope  all  right  enough." 

Scotty  observed  that  he  would  be  consigned  to  everlasting 
damnation.  Ropes,  he  had  supposed,  were  all  alike. 

"I  knowed  that  rope  must  'a'  belonged  to  one  o'  the  rust 
lers,"  said  Scotty,  "but  it  was  such  a  little  thing  that  I'd  for 
got  all  about  it  by  the  time  you  got  back  to  the  ranch,  Tom. 
Blakely's  rope!  It's  shore  amazin'." 

"It  sort  o'  settles  the  cat-hop,  don't  it? "  said  Loudon. 

"Kind  o',"  Scotty  said,  his  frosty  blue  eyes  gleaming. 


260  PARADISE  BEND 

"We'll  wander  over  to  the  88  right  away.  I  guess  now  we'll 
leave  Marvin  tied  up  yet  awhile.  We'll  attend  to  him  later. 
Can  yuh  give  us  fresh  bosses,  Jack?" 

"Can  I?"  exclaimed  Jack  Richie.  "Watch  me.  I  guess 
me  an'  a  few  o'  the  boys  will  ride  along  with  yuh.  Just  to 
see  fair  play  like." 

"Say,  Scotty,"  Loudon  said,  while  the  fresh  horses  were 
being  roped,  "I  hope  Pete  O'Leary  didn't  see  you  an*  the 
bunch  leavin'  the  Bend." 

"He  didn't,"  replied  Scotty.  "O'Leary  ain't  with  us  no 
more — No,  not  that  way.  He's  alive  yet  so  far  as  I  know. 
But  he  pulled  his  freight  some  sudden  'bout  two  weeks  ago. 
Dunno  why." 

"Maybe  we'll  see  his  smilin'  face  again  pretty  soon,"  Lou' 
don  observed,  significantly. 

"Then  here's  hopin'  it'll  be  in  bad  company,"  said  Scotty 
Mackenzie. 

An  hour  later  the  band,  now  numbering  forty-two  men, 
started  for  the  88  ranch.  They  rode  northwest,  intending  to 
pass  through  Farewell,  for  it  was  quite  possible  that  Brown 
Jug  and  the  gray  had  been  taken  into  town. 

As  they  neared  the  town  a  rattle  of  shots  came  down  the 
wind.  With  one  accord  the  forty-two  drove  the  spurs  into 
their  mounts. 

At  the  top  of  the  slight  rise  above  the  little  town  they 
halted.  The  windows  of  Bill  Lainey's  hotel  and  Piney  Jack 
son's  blacksmith  shop  were  banked  in  drifting  smoke  through 
which  red  tongues  of  flame  flashed  at  intervals.  From  the 
cover  of  boulders,  wagon-bodies,  the  hotel  corral,  and  the 
Happy  Heart  Saloon,  rule-working  citizens  were  pouring  lead 
into  the  two  places.  Farther  up  the  street  several  Win 
chesters  in  the  Blue  Pigeon  Store  were  replying  to  the  fire 
from  the  opposite  houses  and  from  a  barn  in  the  rear  of  the 
store. 

"Sheriff  Block  an'  his  outfit  are  lockin'  horns  with  some 
friends  o'  mine,  I  guess,"  observed  Loudon. 

"That  ain't  no  way  for  a  sheriff  to  act,"  said  Scotty.  "Let's 
go  down  an'  tell  him  so.  Friends  o'  Tom's,  boys." 


THE  SMOKE  OF  CONFLICT  261 

Loudon  was  already  galloping  down  the  slope.  In  his  wake 
scattered  hoof -beats  became  a  thuttering  drum.  Men  whoop 
ing  and  yelling,  wild-eyed  horses  straining  every  muscle,  the 
charge  swept  down  upon  the  besiegers  of  Lainey's  Hotel  and 
Jackson's  blacksmith  shop. 

The  sheriff's  friends  broke  like  a  covey  of  quail.  The  rifles 
in  the  hotel  and  blacksmith  shop  chattered  like  mad.  Lou 
don  headed  toward  the  hotel  corral  to  whose  shelter  two  men 
had  retreated.  But  there  was  no  one  there  when  he  reached  it. 

He  rode  past  the  corral  and  galloped  along  the  rear  of  the 
buildings  fronting  on  the  street.  Twice  he  was  shot  at,  one 
bullet  nicking  his  horse's  hip.  But  he  contrived  to  reach 
the  other  end  of  the  town  unwounded,  raced  across  the  street, 
and  dismounted  behind  the  sheriff's  corral.  His  feet  had 
barely  touched  the  ground  when  Johnny  Ramsay,  Laguerre, 
and  Chuck  Morgan  joined  him. 

"Yuh  idjit!"  cried  Johnny.  "Don't  yuh  know  no  bet 
ter  'n  that?  Don't  yuh  suppose  they  can  hit  yuh  at  twenty 
yards?  Yuh  wasn't  that  far  away  from  the  backs  of  them 
houses.  Ain't  yuh  got  no  sense  at  all?" 

"Well,  they  didn't  hit  me,  an'  I  notice  three  other  idjits 
didn't  have  no  better  sense.  Duck!" 

Loudon  jerked  Johnny  down  just  as  a  bullet  gashed  the 
side  of  a  post  above  his  head.  Johnny  ceased  talking  and 
ran  hurriedly  to  where  Chuck  Morgan  was  kneeling  behind  a 
corner  of  the  corral.  Loudon  joined  Laguerre  at  the  other 
corner. 

The  four  were  in  an  excellent  position.  The  corral  com 
manded  the  rear  and  one  side  of  the  sheriff's  shack,  the  rear 
of  the  Happy  Heart  Saloon,  and  one  side  of  the  barn  in  the 
rear  of  the  Blue  Pigeon  Store. 

A  man  ran  out  of  the  barn.  Laguerre's  rifle  cracked.  The 
man  stumbled,  dropped,  dragged  himself  to  his  hands  and 
knees,  and  then  huddled  down  slackly.  Laguerre  pumped 
in  another  cartridge.  The  staccato  din  at  the  other  end  of 
town  was  increasing.  The  heavy  roars  of  several  buffalo 
guns  punctuated  the  steady  crackling  of  the  Winchesters' 
whip-like  reports.  Loudon  smiled  a  slow  smile  and  cuddled 


262  PARADISE  BEND 

his  rifle-butt  against  his  shoulder.    The  world  was  coming 
his  way  at  last. 

"That  sheriff  wouldn't  'a*  built  his  corral  so  solid,"  ob 
served  Loudon,  "if  he'd  looked  ahead." 

"You  bet  he  wouldn',"  said  Laguerre.  "Dees  log  ees  fine. 
No  bullet  come  troo  dem.  Bimeby  we  geet  Meestair  Block, 
mebbeso." 

"He  may  be  down  in  the  Happy  Heart.  There  ain't  been 
a  shot  from  the  shack  yet.  He's  in  town  all  right  though. 
His  hoss  and  seven  others  are  in  the  corral" —  Loudon 
peered  through  a  crack  in  the  logs — "I  can't  see  the  brands. 
They're  turned  the  wrong  way." 

"Dere  ees  a  lot  o'  pony  een  dat  corral  down  dere,"  said 
Laguerre. 

"That's  behind  the  Happy  Heart  Saloon.  Lord  help  'em 
if  they  try  to  slide  out  on  'em." 

Zing-g-g!  A  bullet  ricochetted  from  a  near-by  boulder  and 
hummed  above  London's  hat. 

"That  came  from  the  barn,"  said  Loudon,  firing  at  a  gray 
smoke-cloud  high  up  on  the  side  of  the  structure.  "They've 
knocked  a  hole  in  a  board,  I  guess.  Yep  " —  as  the  thinning 
smoke  revealed  a  black  opening — "they  have." 

Shooting  carefully  and  without  haste,  Loudon  and  La 
guerre  rendered  firing  from  that  hole  in  the  barn  a  ease  of 
suicide.  From  their  corner  Johnny  Ramsay  and  Chuck  Mor 
gan  alternately  drove  questing  bullets  into  the  barn  and  the 
rear  of  the  Happy  Heart  Saloon. 

The  firing  from  the  barn  slackened.  That  from  the  Happy 
Heart  redoubled  in  vigour.  The  glass  window-sashes  began 
to  fall  in  tinkling  rain  on  the  ground. 

"The  boys  must  'a'  gotten  into  the  houses  across  the 
street,"  said  Loudon.  "They're  a-firin'  right  through  the 
saloon." 

"She  weel  be  dark  een  two  hour,"  Laguerre  remarked, 
irrelevantly. 

"I  know  it.  We'll  have  to  finish  up  before  then  or  they'll 
getaway.  Plug  any,  Johnny?" 

"One,"  was  the  laconic  reply  of  that  expert  with  a  rifle. 


THE  SMOKE  OF  CONFLICT  263 

"  He  didn't,  neither ! "  denied  Chuck  Morgan.  "  I  got  him. 
Johnny  was  loadin'  his  rifle  at  the  time  the  feller  cashed. 
Johnny  couldn't  hit  a  flock  o'  barn  doors  flyin'  low — not  with 
his  rifle." 

"Oh,  couldn't  I,  huh?"  yapped  Johnny  Ramsay.  "Well, 
if  I  hadn't  'a*  got  him  you'd  be  a-lyin'  there  right  quiet  an* 
peaceful  with  yore  hat  over  yore  face.  I  hit  what  I  aim  at, 
I  ain't  been  shoo  tin'  holes  in  boards  like  some  people." 

At  this  juncture  the  door  of  the  Happy  Heart  opened  a 
crack,  and  Johnny  and  Chuck  forgot  their  argument  at  once. 
The  door  closed  abruptly,  the  wood  near  the  knob  gashed  and 
scarred  by  several  bullets. 

"This  is  gettin*  monotonous,"  said  Loudon.  "I  thought 
there 'd  be  action  this  side  an'  there  ain't  a  bit.  The  barn 
has  gone  to  sleep.  I'm  goin'  into  the  sheriff's  shack.  I'll  bet 
it's  empty." 

"Dey  geet  you  from  the  barn,  mabbeso,"  Laguerre  sug 
gested. 

"No,  they  won't — not  if  yuh  keep  'em  away  from  that 
hole." 

Loudon  laid  his  rifle  down,  pulled  his  hat  firmly  over  his 
ears,  and  raced  toward  the  shack,  jerking  out  his  revolvers  as 
he  ran.  He  reached  the  door  of  the  shack  without  a  shot 
having  been  fired  at  him. 

Fully  aware  that  death  might  be  awaiting  his  entry,  he 
drove  his  shoulder  against  the  door  and  burst  it  open.  He 
sprang  across  the  doorsill  and  halted,  balancing  on  the  balls 
of  his  feet. 

Save  for  the  loud  ticking  of  an  alarm  clock  there  was  no 
sound  in  the  shack.  The  door  of  the  front  room  stood  open. 
Through  the  doorway  Loudon  glimpsed  a  bro"ken  chair,  and 
beside  it,  where  the  floor  sagged,  a  pool  of  blood.  Loudon 
walked  into  the  front  room. 

His  eyes  beheld  a  scene  of  the  wildest  disorder.  There  had 
been  a  fierce  fight  in  that  front  room.  On  his  back  on  the 
floor,  his  legs  under  the  table,  lay  Sheriff  Block,  his  black 
beard  reddened  with  blood  from  a  wound  in  the  cheek.  One 
hand  gripped  the  butt  of  a  six-shooter  and  the  other  clutched 


264  PARADISE  BEND 

the  breast  of  his  flannel  shirt.  There  were  two  bullet-holes 
in  the  sheriff's  chest. 

Across  the  base  of  the  closed  front  door  lay  the  body  of 
Rufe  Cutting.  He  had  been  literally  cut  to  pieces.  Only 
his  face  was  unmarked.  Otherwise  he  was  a  ghastly  object. 
From  beneath  his  body  oozy  runlets  of  blood  had  centred 
in  the  pool  beside  the  chair. 

Propped  up  against  the  side  wall,  his  legs  outstretched,  sat 
a  stranger.  Blood  spotted  and  stained  the  floor  about  him. 
He  had  been  shot  in  the  legs  and  the  chest.  Across  his  knees 
lay  a  Winchester.  Beside  him  a  long  knife,  red  from  hilt  to 
point,  was  stuck  upright  in  the  floor.  The  stranger's  chin 
was  on  his  breast,  a  bloody  froth  flecked  his  lips.  So  positive 
was  Loudon  that  the  stranger  was  dead,  that,  when  the  man 
jerked  his  head  upright,  he  jumped  a  full  yard  backward. 
Weakly  the  wounded  man  plucked  at  his  Winchester,  his  dull 
eyes  fixed  on  Loudon.  The  latter  ran  to  his  side. 

"It's  all  right,  stranger,"  cried  Loudon,  "I'm  a  friend." 

At  this  assurance  the  stranger  ceased  in  his  effort  to  raise 
his  rifle. 

"Water,"  he  muttered,  faintly,  "water." 

In  a  corner  stood  a  bucket  and  a  tin  dipper.  Loudon 
scooped  up  a  dipperful  and  held  it  to  the  man's  lips. 
He  drank  chokingly,  and  half  the  water  spilled  out  on  his 
shirt. 

"Stranger,"  muttered  the  wounded  man,  "I'm  goin'  away 
from  here  in  a  hurry.  Pull  off  my  boots,  will  yuh?  " 

Loudon  complied  with  the  request.  The  removal  of  the 
boots  must  have  cruelly  hurt  the  wounded  legs,  but  the  man 
did  not  even  groan. 

"That's  better,"  muttered  the  man,  when  the  boots  were 
off.  "I  was  hopin'  I  wouldn't  have  to  cash  with  'em  on. 
Who's  yore  friend?" 

Loudon  whirled,  for  his  nerves  were  on  edge,  and  Laguerre, 
who  had  entered  without  a  sound,  only  saved  himself  from 
death  by  a  cat-like  leap  to  one  side.  As  it  was,  London's 
bullet  missed  him  by  the  veriest  fraction  of  an  inch.  Loudon 
shamefacedly  bolstered  his  weapon. 


THE  SMOKE  OF  CONFLICT  265 

"My  fault,"  said  Laguerre,  calmly.  "Nex'  time  eet  ees 
bes'  I  speak  firs',  yes.  Who  ees  de  man?" 

"I  dunno.     Who  are  yuh,  stranger?" 

"Did  yuh  kill  him?"  queried  the  stranger,  his  eyes  begin 
ning  to  film  over. 

"No,  he's  a  friend,  too.     Can't  yuh  tell  yore  name?" 

"I'm  Tom  Hallaway,"  was  the  thickly  uttered  response. 
"Rufe  Cutting  killed  my  brother  Jim  an'  stole  his  pinto  hoss. 
Block  was  with  Cutting,  an'  helped  him.  I  got  'em  both. 
I  said  I'd  cut  Rufe's  heart  out — an'  I  sure — done  it.  Gimme 
a— drink." 

But  before  the  water  came  Tom  Hallaway 's  head  fell  for 
ward,  and  he  died. 

"Look  here,"  said  Laguerre,  who  had  looked  out  of  the 
window  opposite  Tom  Hallaway. 

Loudon  went  to  the  window.  Beneath  it  two  dead  men 
were  sprawled.  Their  stiffened  fingers  clutched  six-shooters. 

"They  drilled  him  through  the  window,"  said  Loudon,  "an* 
he  got  'em  both." 

Laguerre  nodded  solemnly. 

"Brave  man,  dat  Tom  Hallaway,"  said  Telescope  La 
guerre. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

BEFORE     THE     DAWN 

5  window  through  which  Tom  Hallaway  had  been 
shot  faced  the  open  country.  The  other  two  windows 
in  the  room  flanked  the  front  door.  The  thoughtful 
Laguerre  had  brought  London's  rifle  in  with  him,  and  the 
two  men  squatted  down  behind  the  windows.  Their  view 
of  Main  Street  was  excellent.  They  could  see  almost  the 
whole  width  of  the  street  from  one  end  of  the  town  to  the 
other. 

Far  down  the  street  the  windows  of  Lainey's  Hotel  were 
smoking  like  the  gunports  of  an  old-time  line-o'-battle-ship. 
The  men  in  the  hotel  seemed  to  be  devoting  all  their  attention 
to  the  Happy  Heart  and  the  houses  between  it  and  Piney 
Jackson's  blacksmith  shop. 

Directly  opposite  the  Happy  Heart  was  a  small  store  from 
which  three  or  four  men  were  directing  a  heavy  fire  at  the 
saloon.  Next  to  the  store  were  four  empty  corrals,  and  then 
came  some  twenty  houses,  the  twentieth  opposite  the  sheriff's 
shack.  Of  these  houses  all  save  the  three  nearest  the  corrals 
were  silent.  The  folk  in  these  three  were  carrying  on  a  duel: 
with  the  defenders  of  the  Blue  Pigeon  Store,  whose  fire  had 
slackened  somewhat. 

"I  hope  they  haven't  got  Mike,"  said  Loudon,  and  drove 
a  bullet  close  above  a  window-sill  of  the  middle  house  of  the 
three.  "He's  a  good  fellah."  Another  bullet  nicked  the 
window-sill.  "This  can't  go  on  forever."  Again  a  bullet 
shaved  the  window-sill.  "Somethin's  going'  to  pop  some 
soon." 

Something  did  pop.  The  firing  from  the  Happy  Heart 
culminated  in  a  terrific  volley,  and  then  ceased  abruptly. 

266 


BEFORE  THE  DAWN  267 

"That's  funny,"  commented  Loudon.  "  It  can't They're 

sliding  out!" 

Which  latter  remark  was  called  forth  by  a  sudden  outburst 
of  firing  from  the  corral  where  Johnny  and  Chuck  were  sta 
tioned.  Loudon  and  Laguerre  ran  out  the  back  way.  The 
former's  surmise  was  correct. 

The  Happy  Heart  defenders  had  broken  cover  and  reached 
the  big  corral  behind  the  saloon.  Four  of  them  were  down  in 
front  of  the  corral  gate.  They  would  never  pull  trigger 
again.  But  the  others,  in  number  a  score  or  more,  had 
reached  their  horses  and  were  pouring  out  of  the  gate  in  the 
far  side  of  the  corral. 

Loudon  perceived  that  the  two  riders  in  the  lead  were 
mounted  on  Brown  Jug  and  the  gray.  These  two  kept  to 
gether.  The  remaining  fugitives  wisely  fled  separately 
and  in  many  directions. 

Loudon  and  Laguerre  did  not  fire.  The  range  was  a  long 
six  hundred  yards;  too  long  for  accurate  shooting  when  the 
target  is  astride  a  racing  horse.  Imbued  with  the  same  idea 
they  ran  to  their  horses,  flipped  the  reins  over  their  heads,  and 
jammed  their  Winchesters  into  the  scabbards.  Both  ponies 
were  galloping  at  full  speed  when  the  two  were  settled  in  their 
saddles. 

"We  can  not  catch  dem!"  cried  Laguerre  ten  minutes 
later. 

"We'll  try,  anyhow,"  replied  Loudon,  standing  up  in  the 
stirrups  to  ease  his  horse,  and  wishing  that  he  had  ridden 
Ranger. 

Half  an  hour  later  it  became  obvious  that  pursuit  was  use 
less.  Brown  Jug  and  the  gray  had  the  legs  of  the  pursuer's 
horses.  The  sun  was  setting,  too.  Loudon  and  Laguerre 
pulled  in  their  panting  mounts. 

"Here  comes  Johnny  an'  Chuck,"  said  Loudon. 

"  Could  yuh  tell  who  they  was?  "  demanded  Johnny,  breath 
lessly. 

"They  kept  their  backs  to  us,"  Loudon  replied,  drily, 
"an'  they  didn't  leave  any  cards." 

"Ain't  got  no  manners  at  all,"  said  Johnny  Ramsay. 


268  PARADISE  BEND 

"They're  headin*  northwest,  an'  they  shore  ought  to  get 
there.  C  'mon  back,  I'm  dry." 

"They  was  seven  88  ponies  in  Block's  corral,"  said  Chuck 
Morgan.  "  Let's  hurry.  Maybe  we  can  get  the  owners  yet." 

"If  they  ain't  already  been  got,"  said  Johnny  Ramsay. 

"Seven  88  ponies,"  repeated  Loudon.  "I  seen  'em  in  the 
corral,  but  I  couldn't  see  the  brand.  Seven.  That  means 
seven  o'  the  outfit  was  in  Farewell,  an'  more'n  seven,  maybe. 
I  don't  believe  Blakely  was  there.  He's  been  mighty  cau 
tious  lately.  Well,  anyhow,  countin'  seven  at  Farewell, 
there'd  ought  to  be  eight  more  at  the  four  line-camps.  Rudd's 
quit,  an'  Marvin  is  hogtied,  an*  Shorty  Simms  is  dead. 
Accordin '  to  my  figurin ',  that  makes  eighteen." 

"  Yo're  well  educated,  Mr.  Loudon,"  said  Johnny  Ramsay. 

"  Correct.  Well,  then,  unless  Blakely  has  hired  a  bunch  o ' 
new  men,  which  ain't  likely,  then  eighteen  from  twenty-five 
leaves  seven." 

"First  class  in  'rithmetic  will  take  the  front  seats,"  re 
marked  Chuck,  solemnly.  "The  little  boys  mustn't  sit  with 
the  little  girls.  Attention,  children,  an'  I'll  interduce  our 

new  teacher,  Mr.  Thomas  Loudon,  a  well-known Hi! 

you  leave  my  cayuse  alone,  Tom !  I'm  the  only  gent  he  allows 
to  spur  him.  Damitall,  he's  goin '  to  buck,  an '  I'm  all  het  up, 
anyhow.  Oh, !  Iknowedit!" 

"Chuck  ought  to  ride  pitchers  for  a  livin5,"  commented 
Loudon.  "Ain't  he  graceful?  Go  yuh  ten,  Telescope,  he 
pulls  leather." 

Chuck  returned  to  them  ten  minutes  later.  He  sidled  his 
now  thoroughly  chastened  pony  in  between  Ramsay  and  La- 
guerre. 

"I'll  have  nothin*  more  to  do  with  that  long-legged  feller 
on  the  left  o'  the  line,"  Chuck  announced  to  the  world  at 
large.  "He'd  just  as  soon  break  a  friend's  neck  as  not. 
He  ain't  got  no  feelin's  whatever.  'Rithmetic's  done  locoed 
him." 

"As  I  was  sayin*  before  I  was  interrupted,"  said  Loudon, 
grinning,  "eighteen  from  twenty-five  leaves  seven.  There 
oughtn't  to  be  more'n  seven  men  at  the  88  ranch  house  an* 


BEFORE  THE  DAWN  269 

they  won't  be  expectin*  callers.    There's  four  of  us.     What's 
the  answer?" 

"  Dat  ees  fine,"  Laguerre  said.  "  We  weel  geet  dere  before 
Scotty  un  de  odders  come.  I  say  we  go." 

"Me,  too,"  said  Johnny  Ramsay. 

"But  no  more  'rithmetic!"  Chuck  Morgan  cried  in  mock 
alarm.  "It  shore  makes  my  head  ache,  'rithmetic  does." 

They  swung  away  from  Farewell  and  entered  a  long  draw, 
dark  with  the  purple  shadows  of  the  twilight. 

"Wasn't  there  nobody  at  all  in  Block's  shack?"  queried 
Johnny  Ramsay,  rolling  a  cigarette  one-handed. 

"Three,"  replied  Loudon. 

"Huh!"  Johnny  Ramsay  was  startled. 

"Two  was  dead  an'  the  third  was  dyin',"  explained  Lou 
don.     "He  cashed  before  we  come  out.     His  name  was  Tom 
Hallaway.     You    remember    about    Cutting    stealin'    my 
boss.     Well,  him  an'  Block  turned  up  in  Rocket,  an*  Cutting 
was  ridin '  a  blaze-face  pinto.     Come  to  find  out,  the  pinto  be 
longed  to  a  fellah  named  Jim  Hallaway,  an'  Jim  was  found 
murdered.     The  way  I  figure  it:  Cutting  knowed  better 'n1 
to  ride  in  on  my  hoss,  so  he  killed  Jim  an*  took  his  pony,! 
leavin'  my  hoss  back  in  the  hills  some'ers.    Later  he  went 
back  after  Ranger,  an '  sloped  with  the  pair. 

"This  Tom  Hallaway  was  Jim's  brother.  The  two  dead 
men  in  the  shack  was  the  sheriff  an'  Cutting.  Yeah,  Rufe 
Cutting.  It'd  been  better  for  him  if  he'd  gone  south  like  the 
sheriff  said  he  did.  Rufe  was  carved  up  tremendous,  an* 
Block  had  been  plugged  three  times.  Hallaway  got  'em 
both.  Two  o'  the  Farewell  boys  got  him  though — through 
the  window.  But  they  didn't  live  long  enough  to  tell  about 
it.  He  got  them  plumb  centre.  Yep,  four  was  Hallaway's 
tally.  He  shore  paid  'em  in  full  for  killin'  Jim." 

"Which  I  should  say  as  much,"  murmured  Chuck  Morgan, 
admiringly.  "  He  was  some  man ! " 

"An'  he  had  to  die,"  said  Loudon.  "All  on  account  o' 
them  measly  skunks.  Wrell,  by  the  time  Scotty  an'  that 
crowd  get  through  with  Farewell  a  Sunday-school  won't  be  in 
it  with  the  town." 


270  PARADISE  BEND 

"Yo're  whistlin ',"  said  Johnny  Ramsay. 

The  four  pushed  their  mounts  almost  to  the  limit  of  their 
strength.  At  three  in  the  morning  they  dismounted  hi  a 
grove  of  singing  pines.  The  88  ranch  buildings  were  a  bare 
quarter-mile  distant. 

They  tied  their  horses  and  went  forward  on  foot.  Their 
plan  was  to  enter  the  ranch  house  and  take  Blakely  prisoner 
while  he  slept.  It  was  a  sufficiently  foolhardy  proceeding, 
for  Blakely  was  known  to  be  a  light  sleeper.  And  there  might 
be  more  than  seven  men  in  the  bunkhouse.  If  the  scheme 

miscarried,  and  Blakely  should  give  the  alarm But  the 

four  men  wasted  little  thought  on  that  contingency. 

Silently  they  approached  the  dark  blots  that  were  the  ranch 
buildings.  Foot  by  foot  they  edged  along  between  the  two 
corrals. 

At  the  blacksmith  shop  they  halted.  To  the  right,  and 
fifty  or  sixty  yards  away,  was  the  bunkhouse.  In  front  of 
them  stretched  the  square  shape  of  the  ranch  house.  Loudon 
sat  down  and  pulled  off  his  boots.  The  others  followed  his 
example. 

"I'm  goin*  down  to  the  bunkhouse  first,"  Loudon  whis 
pered.  "I  can  tell  by  the  snores,  maybe,  how  many  we've 
got  to  count  in." 

Loudon  slid  silently  toward  the  bunkhouse.  In  ten 
minutes  he  was  back. 

" Not  a  snore,"  he  whispered.  "I  listened  at  each  window. 
There  ain't  a  sound  in  that  bunkhouse.  If  the  boys  are 
gone,  then  Blakely's  gone.  There's  only  one  window  open 
in  the  ranch  house.  I  didn't  hear  nothin'  there,  either." 

Leaving  Johnny  on  guard  at  the  back  door,  Loudon  and  the 
others  tiptoed  around  the  ranch  house.  They  leaned  their 
rifles  against  the  v/all  beside  the  door  and  Loudon  laid  his 
hand  on  the  latch.  Slowly  he  lifted  the  latch  and  slowly, 
very  slowly,  so  that  it  would  not  creak,  he  pushed  the  door 
open.  Once  inside  they  halted,  nerves  a-stretch,  and  ears 
straining  to  catch  the  slightest  sound.  But  there  was  no 
sound. 

Loudon  knew  that  there  were  three  rooms,  an  office,  and  a 


BEFORE  THE  DAWN  271 

wide  hall  in  the  ranch  house,  but  where  Blakely  was  in  the 
habit  of  sleeping  he  did  not  know.  While  Laguerre  and 
Chuck  Morgan  remained  in  the  hall,  Loudon  felt  his  way  from 
room  to  room. 

Still  hearing  no  sound  he  grew  bolder  and  struck  a  match. 
He  found  himself  in  the  office.  In  company  with  the  others 
he  visited  every  room  in  turn.  Each  was  empty.  In  one 
room  the  flickering  matchlight  revealed  a  bed.  The  blankets 
were  tumbled.  An  alarm  clock  hanging  on  a  nail  above  the 
bed  had  stopped  at  half -past  two. 

"Blakely  left  yesterday,  all  right,"  said  Loudon.  "It 
takes  a  day  an '  a  half  for  them  clocks  to  run  down.  Guess  he 
must  'a'  been  at  Farewell  after  all." 

"Maybe  some  o'the  boys  got  him,"  Chuck  said,  hopefully. 

"No  such  luck." 

The  match  went  out,  and  Loudon  scratched  another,  in 
tending  to  light  a  lamp. 

"Put  out  that  light!"  came  in  a  hoarse  whisper  from  the 
back  door.  "Somebody's  a-comin'." 

Loudon  crushed  the  match  between  his  fingers  and  hurried 
to  the  back  door.  Laguerre  and  Chuck  crowded  against  him. 

"Listen!"  commanded  Johnny  Ramsay. 

"Sounds  like  two  horses,"  said  Loudon. 

"Comin'  the  way  we  come,"  growled  Loudon. 

The  hoof -beats,  at  first  a  mere  ripple  of  distant  sound,  grew 
louder  rapidly. 

"If  they're  comin'  here,  they'll  come  in  the  ranch  house, 
shore,"  said  Loudon.  "They're  only  two,  so  they  must  be  a 
couple  o'  the  88.  We'll  take  'em  alive.  Telescope,  you  an* 
Chuck  take  this  door,  an '  Johnny  an '  I'll  take  the  front.  If 
they  come  yore  way  bend  yore  guns  over  their  heads.  Don't 
shoot  till  yuh  know  who  they  are  for  shore.  It's  just  possible 
they  may  be  friends." 

Loudon  and  Johnny  Ramsay  ran  through  the  hall,  brought 
in  the  rifles,  and  closed  the  front  door.  Side  by  side  they 
waited.  The  door  was  poorly  hung.  Through  the  cracks 
they  could  hear  quite  plainly  the  drum  of  the  galloping 
horses'  feet.  Suddenly  a  horse  neighed  shrilly. 


272  PARADISE  BEND 

"Our  bosses  in  the  grove!"  breathed  Loudon.    "I  forgot 


'em,  an' 


But  the  approaching  horsemen  did  not  halt.  As  they  came 
closer  Loudon  heard  one  call  to  the  other  and  the  latter  make 
a  reply,  but  the  words  were  unintelligible.  They  were  still 
talking  when  they  pulled  up  in  front  of  the  ranch-house  door. 

"I  tell  yuh  I  don't  like  that  whinnerin'!"  one  man  was  in 
sisting,  angrily.  "Maybe,  now " 

"  Gittin '  scared,  huh ! "  sneered  the  other.  "  It's  just  some 
o'  our  bosses  strayed.  They  often  go  over  in  that  bunch  o' 
pines.  You  take  the  bosses  down  to  the  corral,  Pete,  an* 
change  the  saddles,  an'  I'll  rustle  us  some  grub  an'  the  cart 
ridges.  Skip  now ! " 

The  speaker  lifted  the  door  latch.  The  door  crashed  open. 
A  boot  scuffed  the  doorsill.  The  heavy  barrel  of  London's 
six-shooter  smashed  down  across  hat  and  hair  with  a  crunch. 

Even  as  the  man  dropped,  Loudon,  taking  no  chances, 
flung  his  arms  around  the  falling  body  and  went  down  with  it. 
Johnny  Ramsay,  drawing  his  own  conclusions  as  to  the 
friendliness  of  the  man  with  the  horses,  sprang  through  the 
doorway,  his  six-shooter  spitting.  In  mid-leap  he  checked 
and  fell  flat,  his  six-shooter  flying  from  his  hand.  He  was  up 
in  an  instant  and  feeling  about  for  his  gun.  Panting  and 
swearing,  for  in  his  ears  was  the  tuckle-tuck-tuckle-tuck  of 
a  furiously  ridden  horse,  he  found  his  six-shooter  at  last. 

"Deed  you  heet  heem?  "  called  Laguerre  from  the  doorway. 

"  I  did  not,"  replied  Johnny.  "  Leastwise  he  didn't  wait  to 
tell  me.  If  I  hadn't  tripped  over  somebody's  feet  an '  lost  my 
gun  in  the  shuffle,  I'd  have  got  him  all  right.  He  wasn't  five 
yards  away.  By  the  time  I  got  hold  o '  the  gun  he  was  over 
the  hills  an'  far  away,  so  far  as  hittin'  him  was  concerned. 
He  left  the  other  sport's  boss,  though." 

Johnny  went  up  to  the  horse,  a  big  light-coloured  animal, 
and  flung  its  dragging  rein  over  a  post  near  the  door.  The 
horse  stood  quietly,  legs  spread,  breathing  heavily. 

"Hey!"  bawled  Loudon.  "Somebody  gimme  a  match! 
I  can't  find  mine,  an'  I  want  to  look  at  Blakely!" 

"So  eet  ees  Blakely,"  said  Laguerre.    "I  deed  not  know." 


BEFORE  THE  DAWN  273 

"Shore,"  Loudon  said,  "I  knowed  both  voices  instanter. 
The  other  party  was  that  Paradise  Bender  named  Pete 
OXeary.  Ain't  anybody  got  a  match?" 

Johnny  Ramsay  pulled  a  match  out  of  his  hat-band  and 
scratched  it.  He  held  the  flame  above  the  face  of  the  un 
conscious  man  on  the  floor. 

"It's  Blakely.  No  mistake  about  that,"  said  Loudon  in  a 
tone  of  great  satisfaction. 

A  guttural  exclamation  from  Laguerre  drew  London's 
eyes  to  the  half-breed.  Laguerre  was  bending  forward,  his 
eyes  fixed  in  a  terrible  glare  on  the  face  of  Blakely.  La- 
guerre's  lips  writhed  open.  His  teeth  were  bared  to  the  gum. 
His  countenance  was  a  mask  of  relentless  hate. 

" Pony  George ! ' '  almost  whispered  Laguerre .     "At  las ' ! ' ' 

The  match  went  out. 

"Gimme  them  matches!"  exclaimed  Loudon,  harshly. 

He  went  into  the  office,  found  a  lamp  and  lit  it.  He  carried 
it  into  the  hall  and  placed  it  on  a  chair.  Laguerre  had  squat 
ted  down  on  his  heels.  His  eyes,  now  mere  slits,  were  still 
fixed  on  Blakely.  Johnny  Ramsay  and  Chuck  Morgan 
covertly  watched  Laguerre.  They  did  not  understand. 
Laguerre's  head  pivoted  suddenly. 

"Dat  man  ees  mine,"  he  said,  staring  at  Loudon. 

"Of  course.  Yuh  don't  need  to  say  no  thin'  more,  Tele 
scope." 

"I  weel  tell  why.  Dese  odders  mus'  know.  My  frien's," 
the  swarthy  face  with  the  terrible  eyes  turned  toward 
Chuck  and  Johnny,  "my  frien's,  long  tarn  ago,  ovair  eas* 
on  de  Sweetwatair,  I  know  dees  man.  She  was  not  call 
Blakely  den.  Hees  name  was  Taylor — Pony  George,  dey  call 
heem.  Pony  George  she  keel  my  wife,  my  lee  tie  Marie. 
Feefteen  year  I  have  hunt  Pony  George.  Now  I  have  f oun ' 
heem.  Un  I  weel  keel  heem,  me." 

Johnny  and  Chuck  nodded  gravely.  The  primitive  code 
of  the  broken  lands  is  bluntly  simple.  Vengeance  was  La 
guerre's. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

TRAIL'S    END 

SHOOT  me !    Hang  me !     I  don't  care.     Only  don't  turn 
me  over  to  that  devil  there.     He'll  torture  me!     For 
God's  sake,  don't  do  it!     I'll  confess!     I'll  tell  yuh  all 
I  ever  done.      I  an '  my  outfit's  been  rustling  them  cows  from 
the  Bar  S  an '  the  Cross-in-a-box.     We've  done  it  for  years ! 

"We  used  to  hold  the  cows  in  a  blind  canon  south  o '  Smoky 
Peak  till  the  brands  healed.  There's  more'n  a  hundred  cows 
there  now!  They're  Hawg  Pen  an*  Cross-in-a-box  an' 
Bar  S  cows !  An '  we  rustled  Scotty  Mackenzie's  hosses  while 
Skinny  Maxson  o '  Marysville  toled  yuh  away  up  to  Hatchet 
Creek,  an '  'twas  me  shot  Scotty.  I'd  'a '  done  for  him  only  I 
thought  he  was  dead.  An '  I  sent  Ruf e  Cutting  to  the  Fly 
ing  M  so  he  could  help  us  when  the  time  come !  Pete  O'Leary 
the  same  way!  He  was  with  me  to-night.  Djuhgethim?" 

"  No,  we  didn't,"  replied  Loudon.  "  It's  no  use  a-takin '  on 
thisaway.  We  trailed  the  hosses  to  Piegan  City,  an'  Archer 
an'  the  Maxson  boys  are  under  arrest.  Yuh  see  how  it  is. 
We  know  all  about  you  an*  yore  gang.  We  can't  do  nothin* 
for  yuh." 

"But  yuh  don't  know  all  I  done  myself!"  Blakely  pursued, 
wildly.  "I  tell  yuh,  I'd  ought  to  be  hung!  I'd  ought  to  be 
hung  ten  times  over.  It  was  me  shot  Johnny  Ramsay  that 
time  he  found  the  dead  Bar  S  cow  an'  her  calf  on  our  range. 
An '  I  tried  to  get  you,  Loudon,  when  yuh  was  snuflin '  'round 
that  ledge  on  Pack-saddle  where  we  used  to  throw  the  cows 
across.  An'  I  thought  up  that  scheme  for  makin'  yuh  out  a 
rustler  with  them  Crossed  Dumbbell  cows.  I  done  it,  I  tell 
yuh!  Can't  yuh  understand?  Hang  me!  Oh,  please  hang 
me,  gents!" 

274 


TRAIL'S  END  275 

Blakely,  fairly  gibbering  with  fear,  crawled  on  his  knees 
toward  Loudon.  Blakely 's  hands  were  bound  behind  his 
back.  The  drying  blood  from  the  scalp  wound,  inflicted  by  the 
barrel  of  Loudon's  six-shooter,  had  stiffened  his  black  hair  into 
upstanding  matted  masses.  He  was  a  wretched  spectacle. 

"Loudon!  Loudon !'y  shrietked  Blakely.  "It  was  me 
swore  out  that  warrant  for  yuh  for  stealin '  the  chestnut  I  sold 
yuh.  I  sent  the  sheriff  up  the  Bend  after  yuh,  an*  I'd  'a' 

hanged  yrih  sure  as if  I'd  ever  laid  hands  on  yuh.     Now 

hang  me!    Hang  me  quick,  an*  get  it  over  with!" 

"Telescope!"  exclaimed  Louplon,  "I  guess  we'll  go  down 
to  the  corrals." 

When  Blakely  perceived  that  there  was  no  hope  for  him, 
that  his  was  to  be  no  easy  death,  he  went  frantic.  Hysteria 
seized  him.  He  sobbed,  laughed,  and  uttered  the  most  blood- 
chilling  screams,  his  body  thrashing  about  like  a  shark  in  its 
death-throes. 

Laguerre,  sitting  cross-legged  on  the  floor,  had  been  whet 
ting  his  skinning-knife  on  his  boot-leg  for  the  past  half -hour. 
Now  he  held  up  the  knife  and  thumbed  the  broad  blade. 

Loudon  and  the  others,  their  eyes  lowered,  passed  out  of  the 
ranch  house  into  the  pale  light  of  dawn.  The  morning  star 
blazed  diamond-bright  above  the  lemon-yellow  splendour  in 
the  east.  A  little  wind  blew  past  their  faces.  The  air  was 
fresh  with  the  pro.mise  of  the  new  .day.  They  drew  long, 
grateful  brea.ths  and  looked  from  under  their  eyebrows  at  each 
other. 

"I  feel  sick,"  Johnny  Ramsay  said,  frankly. 

The  horse  which  Johnny  had  tied  to  the  post  had  been  lying 
down.  It  rose  with  a  heave  and  a  plunge  and  stood  blowing 
and  cracking  its  nostrils. 

"Well,  if  there  ain't-Telescope's  gray,"  announced  Loudon. 
"So  the  fellahs  we  chased  out  o'  Farewell  was  Blakely  an* 
O'Leary  after  all.  They  shore  picked  the  best  hosses  in  the 
corral  when  they  took  Brown  Jug  an'  the  gray.  No  wonder 
we  couldn't  catch  'em." 

"Yo're  right,"  Johnny  and  Chuck  chorused,  loudly. 

"Life's  a  funny  thing," "Loudon  rambled  on,  speaking  quite 


276  PARADISE  BEND 

rapidly.  "Here  we  run  our  legs  off  after  them  two  fellahs, 
an'  they  turn  'round  an*  come  back  to  us  all  prompt  an* 
unexpected.  I  guess  I'll  water  that  hoss  an '  take  his  saddle 
off." 

He  turned  back.    The  others  crawled  up  on  the  corral  fence. 

"Wish  I'd  thought  o'  the  hoss,"  grumbled  Johnny.  "I 
want  somethin'  to  do." 

With  shaking  fingers  he  rolled  a  cigarette  and  spilled  most 
of  the  tobacco.  The  clamour  within  the  ranch  house  sud 
denly  became  louder. 

"He  shore  takes  it  hard,"  muttered  Chuck  Morgan,  re 
pressing  a  shudder  with  difficulty. 

London  slid  around  the  corner  of  the  ranch  house  and 
joined  them  on  the  top  rail. 

"Thought  yuh  was  goin'  to  water  the  hoss,"  said  Chuck. 

"Telescope's  goin'  to  use  him,"  said  Loudon,  and  en 
deavoured  to  whistle  "The  Zebra  Dun." 

"I'm  kind  o'  glad  to  know  who  did  plug  me  that  time," 
remarked  Johnny. 

"I've  always  knowed  who  done  it,"  Loudon  said.  "I  dug 
a  forty-five  bullet  out  o'  Blakely's  swell-fork  the  day  we  had 
the  run-in  at  the  Bar  S." 

"Why  didn't  yuh  tell  me?"  demanded  Johnny. 

"The  bullet  wasn't  proof,  when  yuh  come  right  down  to  it. 
No  use  o'  yore  lockin'  horns  with  Blakely,  anyway.  It 
wouldn't  'a'  done  no  good." 

"  Well,  it  don't Hellenblazes !    Hear  him  yell ! " 

Loudon  began  to  swear  under  his  breath.  A  door  banged 
suddenly.  Blakely's  insane  shrieldng  abruptly  stilled.  Soon 
the  three  men  heard  the  trample  of  the  gray's  feet.  Then, 
beyond  the  ranch  house,  appeared  Laguerre.  He  was 
mounted.  Face  downward  across  his  lap  lay  Blakely,  gagged 
with  his  own  holster  and  silk  neckerchief. 

Riding  at  a  walk,  Laguerre  headed  toward  the  grove  of 
singing  pines  where  they  had  left  their  horses.  When  Brown 
Jug  and  his  double  burden  disappeared  among  the  trees 
Loudon  drew  a  long  breath. 

"I  ain't  in  a  bit  of  a  hurry  for  my  hoss,"  he  declared. 


TRAIL'S  END  277 

"Which  I  should  say  not ! "  Johnny  Ramsay  exclaimed  with 
fervour. 

The  sun  was  an  hour  high  when  Laguerre  loped  out  of  the 
grove.  He  was  leading  their  four  horses.  They  watched  him 
with  morbid  fascination. 

Laguerre  rode  up  to  the  corral  and  halted.  The  gray,  hard 
held,  shook  his  head.  On  the  right  cheek-piece  of  the  horse's 
bridle  a  black-haired  scalp  fla*pped  soggily.  And  Laguerre 
looked  up  a.t  the  three  men  on  the  top  rail  of  the  corral. 

"No  use  hangin'  round  here  no  more,"  said  Loudon, 
slipping  to  the  ground.  "Might  as  well  mosey  over  to  that 
blind  cafion  south  of  Smoky  Peak  an'  see  if  them  cattle  really 
are  there." 

Three  days  later  Loudon  and  his  comrades,  their  horses 
drooping-headed  and  heavy-legged,  rode  into  Farewell. 
Signs  of  the  late  skirmish  were  plentiful.  There  was  not  a 
whole  pane  of  glass  in  any  of  the  buildings  which  had  served 
as  forts;  and  doors,  facades,  and  window  casings  were  pock 
marked  with  bullet-holes. 

Bill  Lainey,  consistent  always,  was  dozing  under  the  wooden 
awning  of  his  hotel.  Awakened,  the  hotelkeeper  solemnly 
shook  hands  all  around,  and  wheezed  that  it  was  a  fine  day. 

"Yeah,"  said  Loudon,  "the  air  round  these  parts  does  seem 
clearer  a  lot.  An'  there  ain't  so  many  folks  on  the  street, 
either." 

" There  won't  be  for  a  while,"  declared  Bill  Lainey.  "We 
buried  twenty-three  gents  day  before  yesterday,  hanged 
twelve  up  the  road  a  piece,  an'  Scotty  an'  Jack  Richie  an' 
that  crowd  rubbed  out  nine  o '  the  boys  that  slid  out  o '  the 
Happy  Heart  over  by  Dead  Horse  Spring." 

"How  many  got  away?"  inquired  Johnny  Ramsay. 

"'Bout  twenty — twenty-four  maybe,"  replied  the  hotel- 
keeper.  "I  chmno  for  shore.  But  anyhow  the  88  outfit  is 
shot  full  o'  holes.  Eleven  of  'em  cashed  here  in  town,  an' 
seven  was  got  outside  o'  town.  The  rest  made  it  safe,  I  guess." 

"Was  they  all  here  before  the  riot?"  queried  Loudon. 

"Every  last  one  of  'em,  'ceptin'  Rudd  an'  Marvin.    They 


278  PARADISE  BEND 

come  in  a-huntin'  trouble.  They've  been  sore  'count  o* 
Mike  Flynn's  sassin'  the  sheriff  an*  darin'  him  an*  the  88 
to  lock  horns  with  him.  Well,  there  was  a  gent  in  town  that 
day,  dunno  who  he  was,  but  anyhow  when  Rufe  Cutting  went 
into  the  sheriff's  shack  the  stranger  went  in,  too.  Oh,  you 
seen  the  inside  o '  the  shack,  did  yuh?  Well,  it  was  what  the 
stranger  done  started  things  a-rollin'.  Two  o*  the  deputies 
plugged  him  through  the  window,  an '  the  rest  of  us  wouldn't 
stand  no  such  actions  as  that,  so  we  started.  Good  thing  you 
gents  an'  Jack  Richie  an'  the  others  happened  along  when 
yuh  did.'' 

"Any  of  our  boys  get  it?" 

"Long  Riley  an'  Masters  o'  the  Cross-in-a-box  went  out 
here  in  town,  an '  three  fellers,  Newhall  an '  Lane  o  *  Paradise 
Bend,  an'  Morton  o'  the  Flyin'  M,  in  the  battle  at  Dead 
Horse.  Our  tally  was  more.  We  lost  seven  of  our  best 
citizens.  Four  of  'em  died  right  here  in  my  hotel — two  in  the 
dinin'  room,  one  at  the  door,  an '  one  in  the  kitchen.  There's 
quite  a  jag  o'  gents  nicked  an'  creased,  but  the  doc  says 
they'll  pull  through  all  right." 

"But  look  here,  Bill,  has  Rufe  Cutting  been  holin'  out 
over  at  the  88  right  along?" 

"I  dunno  how  long  he's  been  there,  Tom,  but  anyway  he 
rid  in  with  half-a-dozen  o '  the  88  'bout  two  weeks  ago,  an ' 
he  was  with  'em  when  they  all  come  in  for  their  battle." 

"Do  yuh  remember  what  Rufe  rode  for  a  hoss  the  first 
time  he  come  in?" 

"Bald-face  pinto — both  times." 

"I  was  wonderin',"  Loudon  said.  "Yuh  see,  Bill,  Rufe 
stole  my  hoss,  Ranger,  up  in  Paradise  Bend,  an'  the  mornin' 
o'  the  fight  here  the  little  hoss  turns  up  at  the  Cross-in- 
a-box.  It  ain't  none  likely  Rufe  brought  him.  Fm  tryin* 
to  figger  out  the  mystery." 

Bill  Lainey's  fat  body  shook  with  laughter.  He  gripped 
his  sides  and  panted  for  breath. 

"That  explains  it,"  he  wheezed,  "It  was  yore  hoss  that 
the  88  was  fussin'  round  after." 

"What  are  yuh  talkin'  about?7'  demanded  Loudon. 


TRAIL'S  END  279 

"Why,  it's  thisaway,  Tom.  When  Blakely  an*  his  gang 
come  in  they  scampered  round  a-pokin'  into  every  corral  in 
town.  Said  one  o '  their  bosses  had  been  stole  five  days  be 
fore,  an'  they  was  out  to  find  the  pony  an*  the  thief.  I 
didn't  pay  no  attention,  'cept  to  see  they  didn't  take  one  o' 
my  bosses  by  mistake.  Yuh  see,  I  allowed  they  was  lyin' 
all  along  an'  just  huntin'  any  old  excuse  to  unhook  their 
artillery .  Yore  boss !  Well,  if  that  ain't  rich ! " 

"It  must  'a'  been  my  boss,"  averred  Loudon,  solemnly. 
"I  guess  now  Rufe  might  have  been  anxious  to  get  him  back 
— some." 

"Yeah,"  cut  in  Johnny  Ramsay,  "but  who  stole  him  from 
the  88?  Guess  the  mystery's  thicker 'n  ever,  Tom." 

"Looks  like  it,"  agreed  Loudon.  "Scotty  or  any  of  'em 
in  town  now,  Bill?" 

"Scotty  ain't.  Him  an'  the  Flyin'  M  bunch  have  rode 
south — Damson,  I  heard  Mike  Flynn  say.  Jack  Richie's 
around  some'ers.  Here  he  comes  now!" 

"Which  I'd  admire  to  know  where  you  fellers  went," 
exclaimed  Jack  Richie,  his  expression  radiating  relief.  "I 
was  bettin '  yuh'd  been  bushwhacked,  but  Scotty  he  said  no, 
yuh  was  more  likely  bushwhackin'  somebody  else,  an*  yuh'd 
all  turn  up  like  plugged  dollars  bimeby.  By  the  looks  of  that 
led  horse  Scotty  had  yuh  sized  up  right.  Who'd  yuh  gather 
in?" 

"Blakely,"  Loudon  replied,  quietly. 

At  this  juncture  Richie  perceived  the  scalp  on  the  gray's 
bridle. 

"I  see,"  said  Jack  Richie.     "Run  across  any  one  else?" 

"Fellah  named  O'Leary — yuh  don't  know  him.  He  got 
away.  We  was  at  the  88  at  the  time.  Before — before 
Blakely  went  he  confessed  to  a  whole  raft  o '  stuff.  We  fol 
lowed  up  part  o'  what  he  said,  an'  over  in  a  blind  canon  south 
o '  Smoky  Peak  in  the  Three  Sisters  we  found  a  hundred  an ' 
twenty  Bar  S,  Hawg  Pen,  an'  Cross-in-a-box  cows.  Some 
o '  the  brands  was  almost  healed  up,  but  there  was  enough  that 
wasn't  to  tell  where  they  come  from.  There  wasn't  nobody 
with  'em." 


380  PARADISE  BEND 

"Smoky  Peak,  huh?  Hoofs  shaved  down  or  burnt,  I 
s'pose?" 

"Shore,"  replied  Loudon.  "They  won't  be  able  to  travel 
under  two  weeks." 

"Did  yuh  tell  Old  Salt  the  joyful  news—about  the  cattle?" 

"I'll  send  him  word." 

"He's  down  at  Mike  Flynn's  now.  Go  an'  make  him 
happy.  But  first  c'mon  in  an'  irrigate.  If  we  don't  do  it 
right  away,  Johnny'll  faint.  His  tongue's  hangin*  out  a 
foot." 

"I'll  see  yuh  later.     Guess  I'd  better  tell  Old  Salt  first." 

Loudon  did  not  feel  particularly  cheerful  as  he  walked  down 
the  street.  His  work  was  done — and  well  done.  His  enemies 
were  either  no  more  or  journeying  swiftly  elsewhere.  There 
was  peace  for  honest  men  in  Fort  Creek  County  at  last. 
But  there  was  no  peace  in  London's  soul.  He  was  learning 
for  the  second  time  that  forgetfulness  comes  not  easily. 

In  front  of  the  Blue  Pigeon  Store  a  buckboard  was  stand 
ing.  The  rangy  vehicle  and  its  team  of  ponies  struck  a  chord 
in  London's  memory.  He  had  seen  them  recently.  Where? 
Idly  speculating  he  entered  the  Blue  Pigeon.  Mr.  Saltoun, 
leaning  over  the  counter,  was  talking  to  Mike  Flynn. 

"Ahoy,  Tom!"  bawled  Mike  Flynn,  thrusting  forward 
his  immense,  freckled  paw.  "  'Tis  a  sight  for  sore  eyes  yuh 
are.  Glory  be,  but  I  thought  yuh  kilt!" 

Mr.  Saltoun's  greeting  was  less  enthusiastic,  but  it  was 
friendly.  Loudon  sat  down  on  the  counter  and  swung  his 
spurred  heels. 

"About  them  cattle  now,"  he  said,  slowly,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  Mr.  Saltoun's  face.  "Yuh  remember  I  told  yuh  the  88 
was  rustlin'  'em?" 

Mr.  Saltoun  nodded. 

"I  remember,"  he  said. 

"Them  cows,"  Loudon  said,  distinctly,  "are  in  a  blind 
canon  south  o*  Smoky  Peak,  along  with  Hawg  Pen  an'  Cross- 
in-a-box  cattle.  That  is,  most  of  'em  are  there.  The  rest 
yuh'll  have  to  pick  out  o*  the  88  herds,  I  guess." 

Mr.  Saltoun's  capitulation  was  instant  and  handsome. 


TRAIL'S  END  281 

"You  was  right!"  he  exclaimed,  warmly,  holding  out  his 
hand.  "You  was  right  all  along.  I  shore  had  the  88  sized 
up  wrong,  an'*' —  vigorously  pumping  London's  hand — 
"any  time  yuh  want  a  job  there's  one  at  the  Bar  S  for  yuh. 
Er — my  range-boss  is  quittin'  next  month.  What  do  yuh 
say  to  his  job?" 

"Now  that's  right  good  hearin',"  replied  Loudon,  "but 
I  guess  I'll  stick  with  the  Flyin'  M  awhile.  Thank  yuh  just 
as  much." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  Any  time  yuh  feel  like  makin*  a 
change,  why,  yuh  know  where  to  come.  Well,  I  got  to  be 
goin'.  Say,  Mike,  don't  forget  to  order  them  collars  for  my 
buckboard  harness." 

"I  shore  won't.     So  long." 

Loudon  followed  Mr.  Saltoun  into  the  street. 

"  Somethin'new,  ain't  it?  "  queried  Loudon, flicking  a  thumb 
at  the  buckboard. 

"Yep,"  said  Mr.  Saltoun,  gathering  up  the  reins.  "Bought 
team  an'  all  a  month  ago  from  Shaner  o'  the  Three  Bars.  Got 
'em  cheap,  too.  Judge  Allison  was  after  'em,  but  I  got  'em. 
Huh?  What  did  yuh  say?  " 

"I  didn't  say  nothin'.     Somethin'  stuck  [in  my  throat." 

"Well,  so  long,  take  care  o'  yoreself." 

Loudon  stood  on  the  sidewalk  gazing  after  the  dwindling 
buckboard.  The  mention  of  Judge  Allison  had  supplied  the 
missing  link  in  the  chain  of  memory.  He  had  seen  that  buck- 
board,  driven  by  a  woman,  stop  in  front  of  Judge  Allison's 
house  in  Marysville,  and  it  had  been  considerably  less  than  a 
month  ago.  Hence,  at  the  time,  the  buckboard  must  have 
been  the  property  of  Mr.  Saltoun.  And  Kate  was  the  only 
woman  at  the  Bar  S  ranch.  The  driver  must  have  been  Kate 
Saltoun.  Why  should  Kate  call  on  Judge  Allison? 

"  Shershay  lafam,"  the  Judge  had  remarked  in  explanation 
of  his  rather  bald  espousal  of  London's  cause.  "Find  the 
woman."  Did  the  Judge  mean  Kate,  and  was  it  because  of 
Kate's  visit  that  he  had  become  London's  friend?  It  did  not 
seem  possible,  yet,  if  Kate  actually  had  pleaded  for  him  it  was 
on  a  par  with  her  actions  in  Paradise  Bend. 


282  PARADISE  BEND 

Loudon,  pondering  the  matter,  stood  quite  still,  utterly 
oblivious  to  his  surroundings.  The  sudden  creak  of  wheels, 
a  familiar  tinny  clatter,  and  a  cry  of  "Howdy,  Tom ! "  brought 
him  out  of  his  reverie  with  a  jerk. 

He  looked  up.  Ten  feet  distant,  Captain  Burr,  on  the  seat 
of  his  peddler's  wagon,  regarded  him  with  kindly  eyes. 

"Wool-gatherin',  Tom?"  said  the  lean  little  man,  waggling 
his  white  beard.  "I'm  surprised." 

"I  was  just  a-wonderin',"  Loudon  said,  forcing  a  smile, 
"whether  we  was  goin'  to  have  rain  or  not." 

"I  shouldn't  wondeh,"  Captain  Burr  remarked,  gravely 
staring  up  into  the  cloudless  blue.  "  I've  just  come  in  from 
the  Bah  S,"  he  continued,  abruptly.  "Miss  Kate  has  two 
right  soah  hands.  Right  soah,  they  ah.  I  sold  the  young 
lady  some  salve." 

"Sore  hands,"  repeated  Loudon,  stupidly.  "Why,  I — I 
heard  her  thumb  was  tore  pretty  bad,  but — but  I  didn't 
know  both  of  'em  was  hurt." 

"Yes,  the  young  lady's  right  thumb  has  quite  a  gash,  and 
the  palm  of  her  left  hand  is  cut  all  the  way  across.  She  cut  it 
on  a  rock!" 

"Cut  it  on  a  rock?" 

"On  a  rock!  She  was  comin'  out  o'  the  house,  she  said, 
an'  she  tripped  on  the  doorsill  an'  fell.  Fell  pretty  heavy, 
Her  hand  was  sho'  cut  quite  a  lot." 

"Lemme  get  this  straight.  Yuh  say  she  cut  her  left  hand, 
an'  on  a  rock?  " 

"Yes,  Tom,"  said  Captain  Burr,  gently,  "that's  the  how  of 
it." 

Without  a  word  Loudon  turned  and  fled.  Five  minutes 
later,  mounted  on  Bill  Lainey's  toughest  horse,  he  was  gallop 
ing  out  of  Farewell.  Two  miles  out  he  passed  Mr.  Saltoun. 
The  latter  called  to  him  but  received  no  response  save  a  hand- 
wave. 

"Well,"  observed  Mr.  Saltoun,  "if  he's  changed  his  mind 
about  that  job,  he's  shore  actin'  mighty  odd." 

Within  two  hours  after  leaving  Farewell  Loudon  halted 
his  staggering  pony  in  front  of  the  Bar  S  ranch  house.  In 


TRAIL'S  END  283 

the  hammock  on  the  porch  sat  Kate  Saltoun.  Her  face 
was  rather  white,  and  there  were  dark  shadows  beneath  her 
black  eyes. 

Loudon  sucked  in  his  breath  sharply  at  the  sight  of  the  poor, 
bandaged  hands.  Kate  sat  motionless,  her  gaze  level,  her 
face  without  expression.  Loudon  felt  like  a  stranger. 

"Kate,"  he  began,  "Kate "  and  stopped. 

"Well,"  said  Kate  at  last,  dropping  her  eyes. 

Released  from  the  spell  of  that  chill  stare,  Loudon  found 
his  tongue. 

"  I  come  to  have  a  little  talk  with  yuh,"  he  said.  "  Yuh  see, 
I've  been  findin'  out  things  lately.  You  drove  over  to  Marys- 
ville  an'  talked  to  Judge  Allison  on  my  account,  didn't  yuh?  " 

"Who  told  you?"     Kate  did  not  raise  her  head. 

"Nobody  told  me.  But  I  ain't  a  fool.  I  seen  the  Bar  S 
buckboard  in  Marysville,  an*  a  woman  was  drivin',  an'  the 
judge  said,  'Shershay  la  fam*  meanin'  'Find  the  woman.' 
Well,  yo're  the  woman  all  right.  I  know  yuh  are.  An*  that 
cut  left  hand  yuh  didn't  get  by  trippin*  over  the  doorsill  like 
yuh  told  Cap'n  Burr.  Yuh  got  it  by  fallin*  on  a  rock  back 
o'  the  Cross-in-a-box  ranch  house  after  yuh'd  tied  Ranger  to 
the  post.  Yuh  can't  tell  me  different. 

"Yore  cut  hand,  an'  yore  knowin'  that  I'd  be  at  the  Cross- 
in-a-box,  an'  the  way  it  was  done  an'  all,  makes  it  certain.  Yuh 
gave  me  my  hoss  back.  An'  yuh  paid  Rudd  to  get  him  for 
yuh.  Ranger  was  at  the  88  all  right.  An'  yuh  couldn't  'a' 
got  hold  o'  him  'cept  through  somebody  like  Rudd.  No 
wonder  yuh  stuck  by  Rudd !  It  was  the  only  thing  yuh  could 
do,  'specially  when  he'd  saved  yore  life,  too." 

"He  didn't  save  my  life.  I  thought  if  I  told  you  that  he 
had,  you  might  let  him  go.  I  lied.  I'd  have  told  any  num 
ber  of  lies  to  save  him.  He  was  a  horse  thief,  and  he  and 
Marvin  tried  to  prove  you  a  rustler,  but  he  trusted  me.  You 
wouldn't  take  my  word  when  I  asked  you  to,  but  Rudd  did 
when  he  brought  me  Ranger  and  I  didn't  have  the  full  amount 
I'd  promised  him.  I  told  him  that  I'd  bring  the  money  three 
days  later  in  the  draw  where  the  sumac  bushes  grow,  and  he 
believed  me  and  he  led  Ranger  all  the  way  to  that  lonesome 


284  PARADISE  BEND 

spruce  grove  on  Cow  Creek  where  I  wanted  to  keep  the  horse 
till  I  could  return  him  to  you.  After  that  I  couldn't  desert 
Rudd.  I  couldn't  have  lived  with  myself  if  I  had." 

"  I  know.  I  should  'a'  took  yore  word,  but — well,  anyhow, 
I  should  'a'  took  it  an*  let  it  go  at  that.  I  owe  everythin'  to 
yuh.  Yuh  took  care  o'  me  in  Paradise  Bend.  Yuh  worked 
for  me,  an'  it  was  yore  doin'  that,  that  made  findin'  Scotty's 
hosses  almost  a  cinch.  Yuh  went  an'  got  Hockling  an'  Red 
when  the  deputies  jumped  us  over  near  Pack-saddle. 

"Yuh  done  it  all,  you  did,  an'  I'm  here  to  tell  yuh  I'm  a 
dog,  an*  I  ain't  fit  to  saddle  yore  hoss.  I  can't  thank  yuh. 
Thanks  don't  mean  nothin'  'side  o'  what  yuh  done  for  me. 
But — but  how  much  besides  the  sixty  did  yuh  pay  Rudd?  I 
can  settle  that,  anyhow." 

"It  doesn't  matter  in  the  least,"  said  Kate,  her  eyes  still 
on  the  floor. 

"It  does  matter.  It  matters  a  lot.  I've  got  to  know. 
I  can't " 

"Listen,"  interrupted  Kate,  flinging  up  her  head  and 
meeting  his  gaze  squarely,  "I'm  going  to  tell  you  something. 
Once  upon  a  time  you  told  me  you  loved  me.  I  treated 
you  very  badly.  Later  I  was  sorry,  and  I  did  everything  in 
my  power  to  make  amends.  I  even  told  you  I  loved  you.  I 
loved  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul  and  body.  I  could  have 
made  you  happy  as  no  other  woman  on  earth  could  have  made 
you  happy.  Well,  that's  over.  I've  learned  my  lesson." 

"Kate!    Kate!    I  do  love  yuh— I  do !    I  do!" 

London's  hat  was  under  his  feet.  His  long  body  was 
trembling. 

"You  do,  do  you?  "  said  Kate,  her  voice  icy.  "Then  per 
haps  I  can  make  you  suffer  as  you  made  me  suffer.  I  don't 
believe  I  can,  but  I'll  try.  I  don't  love  you !  Do  you  under 
stand  ?  I  don't  love  you ! ' ' 

"Then— then  why  did  yuh  go  to  the  Judge?  Why  did 
yuh  get  my  hoss?  Why " 

"Why?  Because  I  wanted  you,  if  such  a  thing  were  pos 
sible,  to  go  through  life  in  my  debt.  You  won't  forget  me 
now.  And  I'm  glad — glad!" 


TRAIL'S  END  285 

"Then  why  did  yuh  walk  in  the  water  if  yuh  wanted  me 
to  know  I  owed  yuh  so  much?  Why  did  yuh  wear  boots  too 
big  for  yuh  to  make  me  think  it  was  a  man  brought  Ranger 
to  the  Cross-in-a-box?  Why  did  yuh  go  to  Marys ville  all 
wrapped  up,  so  nobody 'd  know  yuh?  What  yuh  say  don't 
hang  together." 

" Doesn't  it?  I'm  sorry.  You'd  have  found  out  about  the 
Judge  and  Ranger  before  a  great  while.  I'd  have  seen  to  it 
that  you  did.  I  merely  didn*t  care  to  have  you  know  about 
these  things  at  the  time." 

"I  guess  I  understand,"  Loudon  muttered.  "I'll— I'll 
send  yuh  Ranger.  Yuh've  done  bought  him.  He's  yores. 
I'll  go  now." 

"Oh,  don't  bother  about  Ranger Look  out!" 

So  engrossed  had  been  the  two  that  neither  had  heard  the 
gallop  of  an  approaching  horse  till  it  shot  around  the  corner 
of  the  house  and  was  almost  upon  them.  As  Kate  shrieked 
her  warning  she  sprang  from  the  hammock  and  flung  herself 
in  front  of  Loudon.  For  the  man  on  the  horse  was  Pete 
O'Leary,  and  he  was  apparently  aiming  a  six-shooter  at  Lou 
don. 

"You spy!"  yelled  O'Leary. 

Even  as  O'Leary's  six-shooter  cracked,  Loudon  swept  Kate 
to  one  side  and  fired  from  the  hip.  O'Leary  swayed,  dropped 
his  gun,  then  pitched  forward  over  his  saddle-horn.  Lou 
don  ran  to  him.  As  he  reached  O'Leary  the  latter  rolled  over 
on  his  back. 

"Teach  her  to  spy  on  my  letters!"  he  gasped.  "If  it 
hadn't  been  for  her  I " 

He  choked  and  died. 

Loudon  thrust  his  sixshooter  into  its  holster  and  turned. 
Kate,  her  lips  colourless,  her  eyes  dilated,  was  clinging  to  one 
of  the  porch  uprights.  Loudon  crossed  the  intervening  space 
in  two  leaps. 

"Where  yuh  hit?"  he  cried. 

"I'm  not  hit,"  she  replied,  shakily.  "But— but  did  he — 
did  you — are  you  hurt?" 

"I  ain't  even  creased.    Now  you  go  in  the  house  an'  stay. 


286  PARADISE  BEND 

Here  come  Jimmie  an'  Rainey.  We'll  take  care  o'  what's 
out  here." 

Obediently  Kate  went  into  the  house. 

Half  an  hour  later,  in  the  living  room,  Loudon  found  her. 
She  rose  from  her  chair  at  his  entrance  and  faced  him  in 
silence.  The  cold,  defiant  expression  had  vanished  from  her 
face.  In  its  stead  was  the  look  of  a  frightened  child.  Lou 
don  halted  within  a  yard  of  her. 

"Kate,"  said  he,  "yuh  can  say  what  yuh  like  about  yore 
reasons  for  goin'  to  Judge  Allison  an'  takin'  that  night  ride 
to  the  Cross-in-a-box,  an'  I've  got  to  believe  yuh.  But  if 
yuh  don't  love  me  why  did  yuh  jump  in  front  o'  me  when 
O'Leary  fired?" 

"I  thought  he  was  going  to  shoot  you,"  she  replied,  forcing 
herself  to  meet  his  eyes.  "I — I  didn't  know  I  was  the  one 
till  I  heard  him  say  so." 

"Yuh  thought  he  was  goin'  to  drop  me,  an'  yuh  jumped 
in  front  o'  me;  why?" 

Kate's  face  was  upturned.  Her  lips  parted.  Her  body 
swayed  toward  him. 

"  Take  me ! "  she  cried.     "  Oh,  take  me ! " 


"Why  did  yuh  say  what  yuh  did  about  wantin'  to  make 
me  suffer  when  yuh  loved  me  all  the  time?  " 

"I  couldn't  help  it.  I  thought  I'd  lost  you,  and  then  you 
came,  and — and  then  I  wanted  to  hurt  you,  and  I  did.  I 
don't  know  what  I'd  have  done  if  you'd  gone  away.  For  I  do 
love  you,  boy!" 

Loudon  held  her  close  as  the  dark  head  snuggled  against 
his  shoulder. 

"I  know,"  said  he,  soberly. 

"I  guess  I've  always  loved  you,"  murmured  Kate,  "I 
must  have.  I — I  hate  myself  when  I  think  of — of  Blakely. 
I  found  out  what  he  was  while  he  was  lying  here  wounded. 
He  was  delirious  and  he  spoke  of  a  woman,  another  man's 
wife,  named  Marie,  down  on  the  Sweetwater.  Oh,  it  was 
awful — what  he  said.  I  can't  tell  you.  It — it  woke  me  up. 


TRAIL'S  END  287 

Then  I  knew  what  I  had  lost  when  you  left  the  ranch.  You'll 
never  leave  me  again,  will  you?" 
"Of  course  I  won't!" 

It  was  a  large  wedding  for  the  Lazy  River  country. 

Scotty  Mackenzie  privately  informed  Jack  Richie  that  he 
didn't  know,  the  marriage  might  turn  out  all  right,  but  Kate 
was  such  a  good-looker,  and  he'd  always  mistrusted  good- 
lookers  himself. 

Scotty's  pessimism  was  pardonable.  He  had  lost  a  good 
employee,  while  Mr.  Saltoun  was  the  gainer  by  an  excellent 
range-boss. 


THE  END 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


v     J"             ' 

*Efc*D  LD 

Ijfjj^ 

SENT  ON  ILL 

MM  2  6  2001 

U.  C.  BERKELEY 

General  Library 
LD  21A-50rrt,-8,'57                                University  of  California 
(C8481slO)476B                                                 Berkeley 

YB  40 1 45 


M559332 


